Giving More
by Hazel-Inle
Summary: Heavy's life has been dictated by the vow he took before his father died in the Gulag: "protect the family". He sacrificed everything as a reult, and a contract comes along as an chance to support them all. What he didn't bargain for was a partnership with 7 men/children with varying amounts of sanity, and a German doctor he cant help but feel attracted to.
1. Meet'n and greet'n

Mikhail felt he should've been used to traveling by now. Being in a revolutionary family, moving around was normal. Running from safe haven to safe haven to avoid capture and possible annihilation was a common occurrence in his youth. But was as they had said. You can run all you like, but eventually you will be caught. And they were. They then traveled to a gulag, where they were forced to live in the remainder years of his childhood. During that time of coerced settlement, his beloved father, the rebellion leader died.

How ironic it was that the man whom never cowered from a fight and never lost a battle with death in defying mortal feats of valor upon the cries of war, only to be struck dead by a particularly bad winter and a cold that turned scarlet. On his deathbed, Mikhail made a promise to his father that he would protect his mother and sisters with his life. It was upon this promise that the man of radical nature was given peace.

They would travel yet again by escaping the gulag and fleeing to a large city, where a safe haven of a different sort awaited them. Their past safe houses were secret hideaways protected them through friends who were supportive to the cause. Now, he planned to hide in plain sight; he moved his family to St Petersburg. It would be easier to hide in the crowd among millions of people, rather than in an open field where there was no cover.

He knew there had to be a way in order to make a living for his family, but in order for him to never be recognized as a son of a rebel, he needed to stay away from anything violent. Upon his mother's encouragement, he decided to go to the university as a student, where he can earn money later in life on a much larger scale than the small blue collar jobs he and his sisters took up as a result of reconstructing the city after the Great Patriotic War*.

As it turned out, this was where he found his love in the written word, and believed it to be the most beautiful thing he had ever encountered that was non tangible. He excelled in reading and literature classes, and proved to have a natural gift in language. He was fluent in all dialects of Russian, British and American English, German, Italian, and even began to learn some French (his French teacher died of a heart attack before he could delve any deeper than a five year old's vocabulary and grammar). In this learning process, he made the choice to pursue a career in writing and literature. Perhaps he could become the next Trotsky. Everyone expected him to be. But this was not to happen.

Mikhail made a second discovery at the university. It happened when he was in the showers with the other men in his Hockey course as an elective. They were done with practice, and everyone was naked, scrubbing the sweat off their skin, throwing soap bars to each other, laughing and talking excitedly about the summer months to come and the warmth that came with it. Mikhail felt a different kind of heat, and it was one that he knew all to well as a male. He turned the water cold, and momentarily forgot that the dials of temperature were all connected, and that whatever he turned to, it would likewise affect the other males in the showers. Every man - minus Mikhail - leapt three feet at the sudden frigid invasion and began yelling at each other confusedly about "who turned off the hot water!?"

The heat in Mikhail was gone, and he summed up the courage to proclaim he was guilty. When badgered for answers as to why he would do such a stupid thing as turn off the hot water in April, his only response was, "It was too hot, and I forgot that I wasn't in my own shower at home, where I can change the heat if I want." The others bullied him about that episode for two weeks before the fun they sought was no longer present.

That night after the incident, he confronted his mother after his sisters had gone to bed.

"How would you describe this warmth, Misha*?" The older woman asked calmly whilst sitting on the couch in the living space while Mikhail nervously paced in a frantic manner.

"It was as if I were about to make love to someone. It was the want, Mother, that caught me off guard. I wasn't thinking when I reached for that faucet, and now I look like a fool!"

"Does it bother you that they teased you about it?" She asked.

"I don't care too much for their opinion of me, but I do wish for respect." He admitted.

"Their respect for you hasn't been tarnished, and you know that. Your embarrassment is just fogging your logic." She announced, pulling his arm to make him sit in a chair. He did so begrudgingly. The elder of the two asked for his full attention for her next inquiry, and requested full honesty. He agreed. Mikhail knew that if he couldn't trust his mother, then he couldn't trust anyone.

"What was on your mind when you felt that need?" That was something Mikhail didn't even expect his mother to think about. He tried to hide the blush on his face, but couldn't do so in a way that would seem natural. He resigned to the truth, even though it confused him to no end.

"I was...I was thinking about their bodies." He admitted.

"Whose?" She pressed gently.

"The others in the showers. Particularly Ivan, who next to me." He whispered, slipping more and more into his shell. His mother took his hand into her own and rubbed his digits with her thumb soothingly.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Mikhail. You just like boys instead of girls. That doesn't make you evil or silly. Just special." She assured.

"How could I have not known?" He demanded. He trusted his mother's words fully, and believed them to be true (as of he had been thinking and tossing the idea around in his head all day afterwards). However, his mind was trained to look at other facts that suggested the negative in order to consider all aspects of an argument.

He had been around mostly men all the way until he was 18, and even now more men surrounded him than women did. How could his attraction be so sudden and without warning?

"I am not sure, Misha." His mother permitted. "But maybe it is because you haven't really had the time to consider or think of such a thing as love? Before this settlement, it was all about survival. Our lives were captured in running and fighting to defend our belief, and then after that it was only studying and such. Now that it is April, and the school year is quieting down, perhaps you have found time to think it over?"

"But I haven't been thinking it over!" He exclaimed (not too loudly as to not wake his sisters).

"Maybe not consciously." She offered.

The matter altogether was sorted out shortly afterwards, in which both people bid their goodnights and retired to their rooms. He however did not fall asleep immediately. Instead, he lay awake and stared at the popcorn ceiling in dizzying realization. His mind was all over the place, and not at rest as it should've been. He stood from his bed and approached the mirror, his reflection staring back at him in blunt inspection.

Him being the only male in the house had its perks. He had a room all to himself while his sisters and mother shared (which was a certain cause for continuous argument in the earliest stages of moving in). He had the ability to be alone with his privacy and thoughts. He knew he had to say it, and he thanked God that he was alone. He stared at his treacherously fearful eyes and muttered the words, "I am gay," to his doppelganger in the looking glass. To his utmost surprise, his mouth tugged upwards into a smile and bravery and pride overcame his fears. A wash of pure golden warmth and a sickeningly bittersweet joy overcame his body, and his eyes began to water at the truth in his words. He felt so right being honest with himself, and saying those three words tore open his heart raw with a grand sense of passion and happiness that he had never known.

No one knew about the realization, and they never found out. He knew to keep it a secret, and felt that it was for his family's protection. In the Soviet Union, homosexuals were not under good light, and it was a common thought that they shouldn't exist. He knew he could be honest with himself, but couldn't with others. To cover it up, he dated girls and pretended to like them more than friends. They were fooled by this charade of sexuality, but were not in stupid in the ways of overall disinterest or overall detachment; they were aware fairly quickly that he wasn't too far in love with them to even compliment them beyond what a friend would. It always ended in a few weeks, and his relationships were far in between, so it wasn't as if he were a womanizer to a gossip's eyes. They always became friends afterwards.

His worry for his family's safety had partially quelled when he moved to the city, but it flared up, raising its ugly head when he realized his sexual orientation. He knew that if anyone found out about his preference, his family would not be spared from the slurs and possible discovery by relation to himself. This was a true fear, and decided, with a broken heart, to abandon the hope of becoming a writer or anyone of great acknowledgement. It was best to stay in the shadows. But he would achieve his PhD. His mother insisted upon that much. She understood the heartbreak and the crushed dream he had upon announcing his declaration of resolving any attempt to writing anything as a career.

However, right after Mikhail received his PhD in Russian literature, the police came knocking at his door, arresting him and his family for escaping their imprisonment in the gulag. He had no choice. Mikhail killed the two officers who came into his home and took his family away. He felt like an idiot. It had only been 5 years of peace, and yet here they had to travel once more to a different home. Only five years. It should've been longer. In his head, he thought it would be longer, and if they were discovered, perhaps it has been so long that the government would've not cared anymore. That was not to be, and here he was running away again to find a new home.

Only this time, he would be more careful. He had learned from his mistake, and planned to not repeat it, lest his family be killed as a result, and he would break his vow to his father. With this in mind, Mikhail decided to turn the element that killed his father to their advantage. The cold and the reputation of harsh weather year round would create the perfect barrier between his family and the men who desired their death.

For the younger sisters, who had gotten used to the city, this was an outrage, particularly Zhanna. Despite this, they moved into their newly built cabin and adapted to their surrounding ecosystem. They avoided contact with the outside world at every turn with the exception of one trip a month that Mikhail would take to the village to trade furs for supplies. What they didn't buy, they made with their hands and they ate from the land, all sisters becoming skilled hunters. No men ever came to the house buried in the snowy mountains, and they were safe once more.

With no contact with anyone besides his mother, sisters, and the elderly woman at the trading post in the village, it was odd that he should receive mail from the USA. His skepticism was high, and he opened the letter right outside the trading post, reading it carefully over and over in the dark snowfall.

A woman named Helen was in need of a heavy weapons specialist, and it was the strong opinion of herself and her accomplice at the Reliable Excavation and Demolition that he fit the criteria. It was a job offer that paid more money than he had ever thought possible, supplied full support of any permanent injury were to occur, life insurance for his relatives with a worth of millions, equipment and training to be supplied on arrival, and all business travel was paid for by the company.

There had to be a catch. He turned through the papers and found that indeed, as he suspected, there was a fine print. It was nothing out of the ordinary, other than a few mentions of something called respawn - a term he wasn't to familiar with in this context, and no explanation was given - and only one day off per year for vacation. Not enough time at all to even make it home to hug his mother like that movie he once saw in college*.

He discussed it with his family several times over the proceeding three days before calling to accept. A different woman by the name of Miss Pauling, who apparently was the hand of the administrator answered instead. It was obvious this woman had power if she had someone else do all the dirty work.

So here he was, traveling again. This time, he was without anyone he had known, and it frightened him slightly. He was sure he would be fine, with or without his relations, but his sisters and mother all alone with no protection- no. He won't give way to such thoughts. He couldn't turn back now. He managed to get out of the Soviet Union and was now on a train to a place called Teufort.

He decided to think of the administrator. The way the young hand treated the woman verbally over the phone suggested that she was someone not to be messed with, and was dead serious in all aspects of work. Furthermore, she was a known tyrant over her subjects. He wasn't the first of heavy weapons specialists, and he doubted he would be the last. There were previous teams involved, and there was a threat that just then occurred to Mikhail. The woman had suggested that the administrator wouldn't hesitate to strike a more personal blow if one throws the wrong pitch, and this made Mikhail sick with worry.

He made the choice then and there to feign as a naive and ignorant communist as everyone in the USA expected. He would purposely make himself fit a few stereotypes and make his accent thicker as if he had only just learnt English. He would even fake how much he knew, and would purposely change his ability to place sentences with perfect grammar. He would be the peacemaker by not starting fights with anyone on his team, and would remain to be a man whom wouldn't budge on personal life.

This new plan was perfect. In this way, he could hear and listen to all while they believed him to be stupid and unable to understand. He would protect his family by not breathing a word about them. And finally, he could move his family here in safety without anyone knowing of their existence after this job was over.

The trip went by faster than anticipated, and he stepped onto the platform around 3pm, an hour ahead of schedule. Luckily, his ride was here. A woman of petite form stood before him in a purple outfit with horned glasses and a business aura about her. She introduced herself as the Miss Pauling he spoke to over the phone.

They exchanged their pleasantries but their conversation never delved further than business and what was to happen next. He made sure to chop his sentences up and not try so hard at the English accent. He also didn't ask too many questions and just let himself be led to the car, which was a truck that had long black bags in the back with a shovel and quicklime. Heavy knew exactly what was in those bags, and what quicklime could be used for, but didn't make any comment. His goal was to watch and not make himself known.

The ride was silent, and Mikhail was thankful for that. It also was long, which he was not thankful for. The air was stuffy and dry, hot and overbearingly cruel to his Russian blood. The windows were down, but it did little to help the poor Slav. There was water, but he refused to drink anything that could potentially be harmful. The bottle seal was broken, and he didn't like that.

Their arrival at HQ brought him to a crisp and modern building that looked as businesslike and stiff as Pauling was. The men that walked around however were not at all what the building suggested. Mikhail couldn't believe his eyes.

A man with an American Great War helmet hanging over his eyes in a button up was wrestling a black man in the fountain with a broom and a kilt. They were yelling insults at each other and were throwing water everywhere, drenching anyone foolish enough to get too close. Wait, was that black man Scottish? Explained the kilt.

"YOU CYCLOPS WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO BEAT THE AMERICAN OUT OF ME EVEN IF YOU LIVED LONG ENOUGH TO BE YOUR MOTHER'S AGE, MAGGOT!" The one in the helmet bellowed.

"Don't insult me mum you self centered bastard with yer head full of eyeballs!" The Scot yelled back, throwing the other down into the water basin and smashing his face with the broom handle.

That was all the fight Mikhail wanted to see, and was more than happy to follow Pauling down a hall and into an elevator. She selected a floor and they went up, the cheery music doing nothing for the intense tired mood Pauling seemed to be in, and the apprehensively silent one Mikhail tried to hide. They reached the floor soon enough and she led him into an office where all the paperwork had been laid out for him to sign. As he did so, he had the strangest feeling that he was signing his own funeral contract. It wasn't a good feeling, and he wanted to be out of the office as soon as possible. He wasn't going to trust anyone, not even Pauling. She was the administrator's hand, and by no means did she sound like a nice woman to have over for tea. Now those could be rumors, but Mikhail wasn't about to take chances. Not when his family was concerned. Soon enough, Pauling told him to go downstairs to the main floor and wait in the lobby for further instructions.

Mikhail was all too pleased to leave. His hand hurt from signing so many documents.

"Oh, wait!" She called. He stopped and turned back around to see her hand him a folder.

"All the information you need is in this packet." She explained. He nodded and left entering the elevator. When the doors closed, he gave out a huge sigh of exhaustion. He hadn't slept in 32 hours and it was beginning to take its toll on him. He busied himself with the folder in his hands and read over it carefully.

It finally explained the system called respawn. Supposedly its purpose is to catch your life before it goes beyond and you are "respawned" back in a certain designated room. There is a range for respawn that only goes in the peripheral of the base. Any deaths outside the perimeter are permanent. There was a note at the bottom.

"Any respawn failure is not a liability to be used in court against Team Fortress Industries, and any deaths due to respawn failure will be compensated by doubling the life insurance to family members. "

Respawn failure. That was something that genuinely bothered him. At least his family would be rich. The elevator dinged and he looked up. He was at the lobby, and exited the metal box. The Scot and American that were previously in the fountain were glaring at each other from across the room. One was sitting on the bench, looking like a child whose candy had been taken away mid bite. The other looked like he was about to jump up and break the other's spine from his chair. The former was the American, whom was talking to his shovel lovingly while periodically giving his former opponent dirty glances. The scot was clutching his chair so hard it seemed to splinter in his grip.

The Russian decided to avoid the two and chose to sit next a lanky man who wore a green plaid shirt with dirty kakis. The hat on his head was old and leather worn, and his shades were so thick, they had to be prescription. His face was long and rugged, but not too much so that it was unattractive. He sat with his elbows on his knees, leaning over slightly while flipping a bullet between his fingers. Mikhail identified it as a sniper rifle bullet. The man was a sniper.

Mikhail knew snipers had a tendency to be introverts and didn't often begin conversation. And they were happy without any useless noise such as conversing, thank you very much. That suited Mikhail perfectly. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to finish reading his file. He continued looking over the pages.

There were a ton of rules and regulations, and most were not unreasonable. There were some statements such as how one should not use their real names (only titles) unless close or trustworthy were understandable; however, there was one that took him off guard:

"In any even in which you are in court, the state shall assign an attorney to the convicted. No previous lawyers shall apply."

He wasn't sure why this was the case. With all the money that they are being paid, surely they can hire their own lawyers. It was-

"I'm not talking to you, wanker." A gravelly Australian voice proclaimed, it showing high signs of irritation. The Russian looked up from his papers and glanced over at the lanky sniper, to see that he had stopped flipping the bullet and was now tapping his foot angrily on the tile floor.

"I move, if you don't want me-" Mikhail began, but he was waved off by the other beside him hurriedly.

"Not you mate, him." He assured, pointing with his thumb over to the plant next to the bench closet to the marksman. Mikhail couldn't help but stare in shock and concern. These men we're off their rockers. What had he gotten himself into?

"Pardon moi, filthy bushman, but you are forgetting that he does not know I am here. Are you that much of a simpleton?" The French accent and usage was odd in this mix and felt like a slap in the face. However, the source of it was unknown, and Mikhail glanced around carefully. No one was near enough to portray that high of volume at such a distance away (the only other people there were the scot and American, who were at least 50 feet away). Mikhail was thoroughly confused, but the sniper next to him was sure that it had come from the plant. He was actively standing now and yelling at the greenery.

Mikhail was just about to leave for the restroom (more for sanctuary from these nuts than for any relieving) when the shrub suddenly moved by itself and quite literally ran over the sniper, laughing something like "honhonhon" loudly with an occasional snort to accompany it. It weaved around the fountain and zoomed across the lobby with grace that was unassuming for a French pot of greens. The sniper had gotten up, and was now chasing it around the entranceway with curses and insults that the plant just laughed off. What was sad was that the shrub had better comebacks than the Australian. Mikhail had to rub his temples at the scene. This was something out of a cartoon video game.

"Woah woah WOAH! HEY THE PARTY SHOULDN'T START UNTIL I GET HERE!" A boisterously loud yell exclaimed. Mikhail's head turned to find who made it, dearly hoping it wasn't another shrub (he was skeptical of the laurel next to him) and instead found a tiny man - no, child - in a baseball tee, sweatpants, and running shoes. He had buckteeth and a Red Sox hat on backwards. The kid couldn't be any taller than just below his shoulder. It wasn't his height that bothered Mikhail. Oh no, it was the fact at how young and naive he was. His aura screamed for attention and love, much like a two year old's. They honestly thought him as a mercenary? How can-

"Spook- get back here you pompus bastard!" The Aussie yelled as they went around the fountain again. The plant was still out of arm's reach, and only continued to laugh like a maniac. Was Mikhail dreaming?

"Oh so we are playing chase, eh? WATCH AND LEARN YOU DUMBASSES!" The small being yelled out, and with that he took off like a bullet. He could run fast. _Extremely_ fast. He was practically a blur as he dashed past Mikhail's bench and tackled the unprepared pot. Instead of shattering like Mikhail thought it would, it let out some smoke and revealed a fancily dressed male that wore a balaclava.

Mikhail decided to leave the room. There was only so much oddness that he could take at one time, and fled for the bathroom for some quiet just as an American rounded the corner exclaiming in a Texan accent his displeasure of the scene before him. As Mikhail closed the bathroom door behind him, he heard the Scot and American continue their previous fight.

He was sure these men were insane, and by no means sensible. This was something he wouldn't even have dreamed of, and it was unnerving that people could be that messed in the head.

He left it at that and leaned against the wall of the bathroom and continued reading. There wasn't much left to the file other than explaining the basis of teamwork to achieve the information the other side had, and explained that he was on defense of said team. His weapon was explained in full detail and was given the blueprint of it as well.

It was powerful. It was expensive. It was heavy. It reminded him of his father. He too was powerful, precious, and strong. The thought of having a weapon with him that was similar to his own parent was endearing. Mikhail was a man of passion and sensitivity. He found the heart in things easily, and was often described to be a gentle giant...before bashing brains in. He thought of giving his father's name, but believed that may lead people to recognize his family. No, he must choose a name for his gun that doesn't lead to anyone in his family. He considered all the names he knew.

Alex. Alex was a general name, and was common among Russians. And no one in his extended family was by that name. But Alex didn't suit the weapon. No, it was far too weak sounding.

Sasha was the pet name. No one would think him odd to have a pet name for it. Furthermore, if it were a she, then it suggests a strong personality. Yes, Sasha will do.

He was just about to get to the basic layout of the base when the door to the bathroom was slammed open, and a very pissed of Texan entered. It was then that Mikhail recognized how short this man was in comparison. He was smaller than the tiny kid! However, he was a man, and not a child. In fact, his face and demeanor suggested intelligence. However, his temper was shaken up, and Mikhail wasn't about to see what the man was about to do. He filed is folder under his arm and left, braving the lobby. To his surprise there were no fights currently. In fact, it almost seemed peaceful. The Scot and American helmeted man sat together, arms over their shoulders in a friendly and almost brotherly manner as if they had been friends their whole lives. The kid was poking at the sniper for a cigarette, while he ignored him. The masked man leaned against a wall, flirting with the receptionist while smoking a cigarette. It was...odd. He headed back to the bench where he originally sat when he stopped in his tracks.

A new man had appeared and had taken his seat. He sat elegantly with his back straight and his nightshade hair in perfect alignment with the exception of one curl that just hung over his forehead. His spectacles suggested a high calculating intellect, and were professionally placed on his angular nose. The jaw was masculine and lips were thin. The black brows held much character and shaded over his striking blue eyes as he concentrated. His arms were muscular but lean, and his hands were steady in their movements, his black gloved fingers long and dexterous. He was going though his own file, which had far more paperwork than anyone else had.

Mikhail was at a loss at what to do. He had never been so interested in another being before, and felt a different kind of anxiety grow within him. He choked it back and approached.

"Is seat taken?" Mikhail asked politely. The newcomer looked up from his encyclopedia worth of papers and shook his head.

"Nein, help yourself." He responded. His voice held a slightly higher octave, but was still very much a male. It was laced with a German origin and overall had a polite countenance. However, there was a general aura that surrounded the man and shrouded him in a dark past. Mikhail Sat beside him and tried to suppress his racing heart. What was wrong with him?

Perhaps it was because the man was German? He remembered his days cleaning up St. Petersburg after the war with his sisters, and recalled all the horror stories of the German invaders. But when Mikhail looked at this strange Teutonic male, he wasn't struck by anything negative. Perhaps he merely felt a connection with him and wished for a friendship. He decided to wait for the other to make the move, as per to keep his relatively detached manner.

It was only about ten minutes before Miss Pauling appeared with a...well, Mikhail _knew_ it was a person. It's just that they seemed to already be in uniform. Fireproof suit and gas mask included. This being has a clutch purse in its hand that was bright pink and had flowers on it, but its stance was fairly masculine. Confusing messages aside, Pauling called them to the bus outside that would take them to their base. They filed into the vehicle, each claiming a seat as they went. Scout went straight to the first seat behind miss Pauling on the front of the bus, immediately talking about how amazing he was. Pauling only have one worded answers as she went though several contacts and papers that had too small of print for Mikhail to read.

There were enough seats for everyone to have their own, and that was what everyone did. Except the gas masked person. He-she- er... _they_ plopped down next to the short American and gave a few muffles words in happy greeting. The Texan looked thoroughly confused, but let them do as they pleased.

Mikhail sat near the back of the bus and looked out the window. He tried to pretend not to notice that the elegant raven haired man sat in front of him and placed his files in the seat beside him. The German turned to the Russian, grabbing Mikhail's full attention as the bus began to pull out.

"How do you feel about an experimental heart surgery that may or may not involve molding a risky device to said organ?" He asked. Mikhail blinked in surprise.

"Oh...maybe?" He offered. The German looked over the giant with a detective stare and seemed to be sizing him up. Not in a demeaning way, but more for physic.

"I have a theoretical tactic that could potentially make someone invincible on the battlefield." He pressed on, almost giddily. "It enhances the cell performance and increases durability by two hundred percent. It almost makes one bulletproof!"

"Does?" Mikhail asked in wonder, suddenly interested. If he could become invincible, then he may actually protect his family in any setting. Zhanna would be pleased beyond belief if this were true.

"It does, when under the influence of the über charge." The German affirmed. Mikhail was unsure what this "über charge" was, but it sounded like a good thing.

"What is charge?" He asked.

"Well, it's a setting on my medigun that I developed that will connect with the heart device. It needs to charge, but with development it can improve." the man explained. He paused and looked almost pleadingly at the giant. "However, I need a test subject in order for this to work." He added suggestively.

Mikhail paused at the silent offer and glanced over their future teammates.

"Why me? Why not other men?" He questioned. The German wiped his glasses off with a small sigh.

"I wish for this to succeed. I believe it to be proper that I have a man with large physic that can handle such voltage. You remain to be the only one who fits my criteria.

" _I seem to do that a lot_." The Russian mused. However, he also thought about what he was considering. He had no idea who this man was in the slightest and without so much as a "hello, my name is such and such," the German was offering to do a not so safe experimental surgery that may or may not kill him.

But the benefits...his family. They mattered more. On one condition.

"What is name?" Mikhail finally asked. The German looked surprised and then gave a small chuckle.

"My title would be Medic." He revealed. Mikhail Was about to inquire his real name, but then remembered the regulations. He held out his hand over the seat.

"I am Heavy Weapons Guy," he introduced. Medic took his hand and shook with a business grip. "Nice to meet, Doktor."

"Ja, das ist gut to meet you as well, Heavy." He responded. Heavy. Not a bad nickname, and Mikhail thought it better than saying heavy weapons guy all the time.

"I will help Doktor with charge." Mikhail agreed, a small smile making its way onto his face. The doctor positively _beamed_.

"Ah, wunderbar! Dankeschön, miene freund!" He exclaimed. The rest of the bus ride consisted of what to expect in battle, and a little bit about the doctor's medigun. He was very proud of this discovery, and it showed through every single detail of his description. Furthermore, he was a passionate individual when it came to scientific discovery. Mikhail decided he liked this man, even if his ideas were a little - alright, _very_ far fetched. But he seemed trustworthy enough. But one thing stuck in Mikhail's mind.

Medic had called him a friend.

Notes:

* The Great Patriotic War is the Soviet Union's name for WWII  
* Misha is the pet name of Mikhail, the Russian version of Michael  
* The film mentioned was is an actual film. Its called "Ballad of a Soldier" and is a story of a boy trying to get home during a leave to his mother while he's fighting the war because he never got to say goodbye to her. It's a really good movie (in my opinion). You can watch it subbed in two parts on Dailymotion.

And YES! I DID place a Prop Hunt situation here! I would totally be a shrub ;)

sneak peak for next chapter on tumblr: post/123320997972/in-the-bright-lights-of-the-entrance-of-the


	2. Eureka

" _This_ is our base? This _dump_? _Preposterous_!"

"I think it's charming. Reminds me of my home in the outback."

"And that is just _one_ our infinite differences, filthy bushman. I have fine taste, while you lack any at all."

"Piss off, big head!"

"Now don't y'all start up _again_!"

"Dude, think I can scale up that wall and go through the window like batman? Since he, like, hates doors?"

"Laddie, ye couldn't even climb the fence of me backyard. Me blind mum could beat ye."

" _CHALLENGE ACCEPTED_!"

"SCOUT STARTED YELLING SO NOW I'M GOING TO YELL!"

"Mrmph. Mrmph MRMPH _MRMPH_!"

"I ONLY SPEAK AMERICAN, PRIVATE!"

"Py is saying your yelling is causing a headache, and kindly asks you to stop, Soldier."

"NEGATORY! IF IT CAN'T HANDLE MY AMERICAN SPIRIT, THEN IT CAN KISS MY ASS!"

" _MRMPH MRMPH MRMPHMRMPH_!"

"Firebug here takes great offense to that."

"TOO BAD, ENGINEER!"

"Has it ever occurred to them at just how childish they sound?"

Mikhail turned to his doctor friend as the latter stopped and observed them. He too ceased his footsteps and likewise watched the group.

"They have character." Mikhail said carefully, wanting to say eccentric.

"Oh yes, plenty of character, but still very much _kinder*_." The doctor laughed. He turned back to the bus and saw Pauling speaking to the bus driver.

"I wonder if she brought all the organs in the supplies like I asked." The German mused before retreating from where he came and inquired after his precious body parts. Mikhail settled with going inside. He would've waited for Medic, but it was too hot, and he still wasn't used to the heat. Probably wasn't going to assimilate properly until much later.

As it turned out, scout could _not_ scale a wall higher than two steps, and resulted in the first injury of the career: a broken arm from the fall. He stupidly landed on his elbow first, and on a rock at that. He moaned and groaned the entire way to the infirmary, but immediately feigned manliness when Miss Pauling was revealed to be in the room with medic. Mikhail carried the scout, as of he was rolling around and screaming he was dying after he fell and insisted that he couldn't walk. For once, the spy and sniper were in an agreement; Scout was an annoying little shit that had no place on the battlefield. Mikhail made no comment as he went away and greeted the doctor with a not so gentle toss of scout onto the stretcher.

The doctor said a terse hello and seemed to be not in the best of moods. Apparently something went wrong in the shipping of the organs.

"Sup doc! Man, you've got to be the one doctor I've seen who-OW, _HEY_!"

Scout never finished his sentence, for "the one doctor" had grabbed the runner's arm harshly with a stern look on his face. Miss Pauling walked out of the room and threw a, "call me if you need anything!" over her shoulder.

"Ja! I need the animal organs and other parcels I asked for!" The German snapped at Pauling's back as she disappeared down the hall. With a harsh snap, the scout's arm was set, and not without a (he would call it manly later) squeal of protest and pain. Mikhail raised his eyebrows.

This was a side to the doctor that he wasn't aware of, and felt the need to step around cautiously. The scout had no such intuition.

"Yo, doc! Are ya trying to kill me!?" He barked angrily.

"Nein, broken arms do not kill little _kinder_ ," was the pissed off response that scout got as he lowered a machine from he ceiling.

"What the hell is that!?"

Medic said nothing as he flipped a switch and a red beam of light enveloped Scout's arm, fixing the bones in place and fusing the cracks together until it was good as new. The scout looked down in amazement.

"Doc, you are the _MAN_!"

"Raus. _Now_." The German commanded, walking away.

"Huh? What does that even mean?" Scout asked incredulously.

" _Shoo_." The medic muttered over his shoulder.

"Do I at least get a lollipop?" Scout asked, bouncing up slightly.

"Doktor want quiet," Mikhail grumbled, growing tired of the tiny man whom held so much noise.

"But-"

"Doctor. Want. Quiet." Mikhail insisted, pushing the scout towards the door. He threw a few curses over his shoulder before running off to explore the base.

"Danke, meine freund." The German sighed, collapsing into a chair and running a hand though his night colored locks.

"They not send organs?" Mikhail asked, taking the other seat.

"No, they did not. They disposed of them. And my other package won't come until tomorrow!" He responded bitterly. Mikhail nodded in understanding.

"You need organs? What for?"

"Possible transplants. Another idea of mine." The doctor said with a grin. It was a goofy smile that was giddy and partially sinister. Mikhail was intrigued by the man and his quirks, and asked for more information.

This was invitation enough. Though Mikhail was fluent in several languages, he was not fully in comprehension of medical terms. Instead of asking, he feigned knowledge and nodded along with the medicine man's tangents and lecture. Eventually, the doctor seemed to have partially forgotten about the organs, and instead was explaining the particulars of the medigun suspended on the ceiling. It was then that the engineer entered.

The Texan held a box in his hands that had the label "uniforms" on it, with a symbol of a medical cross. The short man stopped and noticed the heavy.

"Oh, didn't know you were in here too, son."

"Doktor and I talk." Mikhail responded. The engineer put the parcel down on a lab table and stated that the uniforms had arrived. Mikhail remembered being measured sometime ago for this.

"I guess I'll be back with yours, big guy." Engineer said, spinning on his heel and walking out. The medic got up from his seat and inspected the contents.

"Red. Fitting, I suppose." He muttered, pulling out a dull pair of red latex (or was it rubber?) gloves. Inside were three sets of uniforms, which Mikhail only guess that it would be the same for him. They were very precise about the design, and even had boots included.

True to his word, the toy maker returned with another parcel, this one with a fist emblem.

"What this?" Mikhail asked no one in particular as he pointed at the symbol.

"Class emblem. Tells us apart." The man said. He shook his head. "They insisted I wear overalls. Damn, as if I don't wear them enough at home!"

Dinner was served at 6, which many mercs agreed was a little early. It was discovered very quickly that soldier should _NEVER_ cook.

"What the hell is this?" The Bostonian asked, lifting a lump of brown porridge like substance that stuck to the fork even as he waved it around like a baton stick. The pyro ducked as to not be smacked in the face.

"MEATLOAF, SON! AMERICAN MADE MEATLOAF! IT'LL MAKE YOU STRONG AND TOUGH!" Shoulder announced, pointing his fork to the ceiling as if to make a point. The Bostonian scoffed.

"As if this guy here needs to be stronger and tougher! Any tougher and I could crush the fat man here!" He proclaimed, motioning towards the heavy. Mikhail could help with hiding his intelligence, but he couldn't help the sass.

"Say little man who cry like baby when falling on stupid bet." He muttered. Scout glared, but Mikhail smirked at his plate, the feature not suiting his face at all. The medic, however...It suited him perfectly.

Wait. Where did _that_ come from?

"And what about _this_ abomination?" Spy said, holding up his spoon with a...was that purple? Yes, it was bright magenta. It was stringy. Perhaps thinly sliced purple cabbage?

"GREEN BEANS!" The American proudly shouted.

"Imbecile! It is _purple_!" The spy exclaimed dramatically.

"I AM NOT COLOR BLIND! YES, I KNOW ITS BLUE, BUT IT'S STILL-"

The spy threw the spoon to the ceiling and to everyone's amazement, it stuck fast.

"Bloody hell..." Sniper breathed out. Mikhail stared down at his plate and seriously doubted that if he ate anything from the plate, he would see the sun rise the next morning. The soldier huffed and marched (quite literally) out of the rec room, his food abandoned on the table.

"Well, since we are all in agreement minus soldier, might as well cook dinner myself." Engineer announced, standing and taking his plate to the sink. He stopped, eyed the trash can and threw the entire dish away. Plate and silverware included.

"Why'd ya do that?" The loud Bostonian asked, trying to free his fork from the "green" beans. His foot was on the side of the table and holding the plate in place while he pulled with all his might. It didn't budge.

"Scout, get your feet of the table." Engineer said over his shoulder. "To answer your question, I felt sorry for the pipes and garbage disposal."

Heavy burst out laughing, understanding completely. If a supposed vegetable stuck to the ceiling, what on earth would it do to the plumbing?

"I know a horrible plumbing story*!" The demoman exclaimed, sitting by the counter with his bottle of scrumpy. "When I was a lad in high school, a kid broke a jar filled with pure sodium. The idjit decided to flush the entire thing down the drain in the lab, and turned on the water."

The engineer began laughing, pyro following, and Mikhail starting up again, holding his sides. Medic barely contained his chuckles.

"So what?" Sniper asked. The demoman looked at the bushman with a devious eye.

"Sodium in pure form is rare naturally. And with good reason; it's an Alkali earth metal. You expose a tiny ounce of it even to air, and it catches on fire. Now imagine what happened when he washed an entire liter down the school piping and was stupid enough to turn on the water?"

"Holy Dooley!" Sniper exclaimed in realization. Scout abandoned his fork and was on the ground, crying because he couldn't breath while laughing.

"Aye! And the poor lad had to help fix the pipes for the rest of his time in school as detention. Worst part about it? He was a proper idjit; repeated freshman year four times because he didn't try in anything but chemistry. And that was _after_ he blew up the pipes." Demoman laughed, drowning down some skrumpy. He paused before giving a small wistful smile.

"Come to think of it, that's when I discovered my love for blowing stuff up." He murmured. He stood and meandered towards the living area.

"At least I became a good plumber!" He chirped, lying down. There was a pregnant silence as his words sank in. Scout, as usual, broke the decorum.

"I became a runner, cuz, like, my seven older bros were awesome at fighting. When I was younger, the fights were always over as soon as I got there. I got upset, right? So I decided if I couldn't be the best at fist fighting, I could be the best at running, so I could get there first. Made me an awesome track star! Got all the girls, won states, the whole shebang! But then ma couldn't send me to college cuz of money, and I've been in the slammer too often to be accepted anywhere. So I got a contract here and the rest is all history." Scout explained, leaning back on the table.

He either didn't notice that everyone stopped listening or just didn't care. Engineer was the only one who even attempted to pretend he was following along.

"What about you guys? How'd you get interested in the stuff you do? Probably not as awesomely as I did." Scout asked. Sniper shrugged.

"Me dad taught me to hunt. And I promised me mum I wouldn't go picking fist fights." He said offhandedly, picking at his nails. The spy rolled his eyes.

"So instead you shoot people from those filthy nests you call home?"

"I kept my promise to me mum! What about you? What the bloody hell makes you want to stab people in the back?" The sniper snapped.

The spy shook his head with a wink.

"That would be telling, mon Cher." He said, vanishing on the spot. The sniper just stared at the spot he was in and muttered under his breath about "bloodily spooks and their toys."

Now, even though Mikhail only had rudimentary French skills, it was no mistaking that Spy had called sniper "my darling". It seems the masked man was holding something of a flirtatious nature not just with female receptionists. Sniper eas none the wiser.

Mikhail glanced over at the stove where engineer was cracking eggs over hamburger meat in a bowl, a box of breadcrumbs next to him.

"What making?" He asked. Engineer glanced over at the Russian before answering.

"Salisbury steak. Found some potatoes and cheese, so I might as well make gratin dauphinoise as well."

"Gray-what-now?" Scout asked dubiously.

"Gratin Dauphinoise." The spy corrected, lighting a cigarette irritatedly. It hung put of thin air next to the engineer, whom jumped at the sudden presence. It seemed the scout was the only one who got under the Frenchman's skin.

"It's basically cheesy taters to the layman." Engineer explained, stuffing his arms elbow deep in hamburger meat. The pyro muffled a few words and the Texan shook his head.

"Pyro, buddy, I appreciate the offer, but after what you told me on the bus, I'm not sure if I'd let you even boil water for me." He said gently but firmly. Mikhail raised an eyebrow. That wasn't ominous or anything. Pyro seemed to pout as it crossed its arms and gave a few indignant sounds.

"I know it was only once! It's just that I don't feel comfortable about that!" Engineer groaned.

"What happened?" Scout pressed skeptically. The pyro went on some sort of tirade that no one could understand. It wasn't until they finished before Engineer could explain.

"Managed to melt a pot on the stove when pyro attempted cooking for the first time. Firebug here tried to cook a...what did you say it was?"

"Mrph mrmph!"

The engineer froze. He slowly looked towards the fireproof suit clad being in shock.

"Why were you cooking _that_?"

"Mrph mrmph! mrmph mrmph _mrmph mrmph_ mrmph."

The engineer turned back to the stove and said nothing, a haunted look in his goggled eyes.

"What? What happened?" Scout pestered.

"Maybe better not know." Mikhail said slowly, taking a sip of bottled water.

During the hour that followed, scout managed to get ejected from the room until dinner was served, by a very drunk Scotsman for "being a wee bit louder than normal". Mikhail also found out quite a bit about his new teammates.

Spy was just as close lipped as he himself was, though he gave a few things away by speaking a language he believed no one else could understand. One was that he shamelessly flirted with the sniper. Secondly, he adored Sniper's eyes and general clumsiness. Thirdly, he was was only cruel to those whom he actually wanted a relationship, and cared more than most did. If he didn't care, he ignored altogether. He was a paradox, like a spy should be.

Engineer was officially the team mom, and held 11 PhDs in hard science. Mikhail could very easily respect a man for that. He also could cook. Mikhail never had American food, but he could tell it was well made. The Texan also had a knack for holding authority even though he wasn't the tallest or the strongest.

Scout had two official volumes: loud and louder. He was self centered and cocky. He also never shut up. Didn't seem to take a hint either. However, underneath that, there was an endearing protectiveness of his mother and brothers that Mikhail appreciated, and could relate to.

Demoman had no college education, but he did have extensive knowledge in chemistry because of his little accident in this first year of being a freshman. His mother was blind, and demanded that he take on as many jobs as possible. But interestingly enough, it wasn't the explosion that caused the man to loose his eye. That, he just changed the subject at.

Sniper was a man who didn't take any teasing well, and seemed to build walls up whenever he was bullied too much. That, or he'd threaten to stab someone with a blade he nicknamed "Sharpie". He also seemed to know spy prior to entrance of Team Fortress Industries, for spy had called him "Michel" once, the French version of "Michael". Sniper especially hated that, Mikhail noted.

Everyone enjoyed the meal, and the spoon on the ceiling was forgotten, as was the remaining used plates and cutlery in the garbage can. Soldier never showed, but no one seemed to care. As far as anyone was concerned, all they saw was an insane man who honestly thought he was in the military. Everyone doubted that was true.

The entire team then headed to bed. They all were tired, and it seemed that more than one person was exhausted beyond the others. Mikhail noticed that the sniper and medic didn't go to the living quarters like the rest. Sniper, he wasn't too concerned about; statistically, bushmen liked being outdoors, so maybe he felt better by taking a walk before bed. But the doctor was heading towards the lab.

"Doktor?" Mikhail called. The German stopped and faced the giant. "You not go to bed?" He asked.

"I have a room inside the lab. And I have paperwork to fill out for supplies. Especially if I need those organs." The German explained, a little bit miffed by the end. Mikhail saw the sense, but was still worried.

"Don't stress out, doktor. Is bad for you." Mikhail advised.

"Ja, certainly, miene freund." There was that word again. _Friend_. "Do not worry for me, Heavy. I am, after all, a doctor." And with that, the German disappeared down the hall.

For a man who had never had friends before, Mikhail felt what was tingling in his chest should not be happening. With the high classed man out of sight, he found himself feeling quite alone, but not overbearingly so.

The Russian giant went about his nightly routine, and as he lay awake in the not so comfortable bed, he thought back on that bout of feeling alone.

It made absolute sense why he was feeling this way. He always had his family with him, and they were there to support him. Now that he isolated them from himself, it was only now in the darkness of night that he truly understood what he asked of them. And it hurt. The feeling of homesickness of the Russian air and chill that never went away was something he never felt before. The rich culture of the city, and the openness of the wild Siberian mountains was a thing he lived with his whole life. To be depraved of it so suddenly, and with no connection at all was almost as bad as the pain he felt when he abandoned his dreams.

But why did watching a man he barely knew walk down a hall and into a medical bay trigger such thoughts? This was something that stumped him, and dearly hoped he wouldn't get this feeling often.

Mikhail rolled over and tried to get some sleep.

As it turned out, the 48 hour stretch without any sleep took its toll on the Russian, and he konked out around half an hour after he got into bed. When he woke up, a strange back pain came and he had to stretch out his muscles and bones by basic exercises. In no time, he was awake and feeling rested. Concerned over Medic, he left for the Medibay instead of going straight to the rec room for breakfast. As it turned out, he was glad he came.

Said doctor was slouched over his papers fast asleep, pen still in his hand. His face was partially stressed, but otherwise peaceful. This was Mikhail's moment to really study the man's face. It had a couple of scars, though very tiny And faint. Mostly, his skin was clear from any imperfections. His hair appeared soft and velvety, even in its slightly tussled state. The light coming from the back window gently flew over his face and gave an impression of innocence.

Mikhail had to force himself to wake the doctor. The German's eye flew open and he jumped in surprise.

"Wer bist du!?" He exclaimed, backing away from the heavy. Mikhail felt hurt by this sudden outburst of unfamiliarity, but realized he didn't have his glasses on. The Russian found them on the floor and picked them up.

"Put on, doktor. You see." He said, offering the wire framed optics. The German did as he was told and breathed out a sigh in relief.

"Danke Gott in Himmel!" He exclaimed, straightening his shirt. Medic glanced down at his papers and gave a slightly disgusted look.

"I still have work to do. What time is it?" He asked.

"It's 7:30. Training begin in two half and half hours." Mikhail said, motioning to the door. "Should eat something."

"Ja, miene freund. But as I said, do not worry for me. I _am_ a doctor, you know." Medic said matter of factly.

"Say man who sleep on desk while working and not in bed." Mikhail muttered.

"I have done that on many occasions, and it has yet to kill me, obviously." Medic countered. The giant kept his response to himself, and instead walked in silence to the rec room.

The sniper was already there, pouring a cup of coffee. He seemed to be in a chipper mood that morning, much unlike the day before. Mikhail didn't have to wonder long before he found out why.

" _MON DIEU! MONSIEUR MICHEL MUNDY, DID YOU PUT YOUR URINE IN MY COFFEE_!?"

This screech came from the hall and the guilty party smirked with a vicious glee that can only be described as self satisfaction.

"That was diabolical, Herr Sniper!" Medic exclaimed, a smile of kudos being sent the sniper's way. Said Aussie shrugged.

"I try, mate. I call it jarate." He responded, pulling out a jar of yellow piss seemingly from thin air. "Might be useful on the battlefield." He mused to himself.

Mikhail was about to say something when a certain Frenchman stormed in, washing his mouth out with Listerine vigorously. He spat into the sink with a groan and tapped his foot on the tile floor in irritation.

"I hope you are satisfied, bushman. _I hope you are SATISFIED_."

"Yep. Very much so." Sniper said contently, sipping his drink nonchalantly. The spy was so infuriated, he couldn't come up with a doozy. Instead he sputtered out profanities of varying languages that almost made Mikhail blush.

The scout entered with serious bed head after the spy left. He glanced back in the direction of the spook before hopping onto a counter stool.

"What happened to the baguette?" He asked, jamming his thumb in the direction of the foul mouthed male.

"Words of wisdom, ankle biter: never ever piss off an Australian by insulting his mum." Sniper said in a mock wise owl voice. There seemed to be a lot of insulted mothers in this team.

Scout pressed for more answers.

"Made him coffee. But he didn't like the extra ingredient I added." He said offhandedly, tossing the jar playfully in his hand before setting it down on the kitchen counter top.

"Cheers, mate." He grinned, toasting his "#1 Sniper" mug to no one in particular. Scout stared at the jar of piss, inching away from the tall lanky man.

"Who wants breakfast?" A cheerful Texan exclaimed.

"OOH, ME ME ME!" Scout bounced up, raising his hand excitedly. Engineer appeared and entered the kitchen area, grabbing the dry ingredients to make pancakes. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the jar.

"Sniper, I don't care what you do with your bowl movement, but just don't put it where food goes." The stout man admonished.

There was a pause from the sniper mid sip, before he opened the fridge and took out three full jars from the top shelf of the ice box.

"Sniper, that is _repulsive_!" Medic gasped disgustedly. Mikhail could feel his stomach churn unpleasantly.

"What else am I supposed to do with it!?" The hunter asked incredulously.

"I don't know, but don't put it _there_ for Gott's sake!"

The sniper grumbled under his breath like a pouting two year old child as he stalked out the door and into the desert heat. The engineer shook his head in dismissal and went to the fridge, collecting the eggs and milk.

As the engineer cooked, scout talked all about his ma and brothers.

" _Just_ how _is this small thing able to talk so_ much?" Mikhail thought to himself. This was ridiculous. He didn't stop until he was given a plate. Engineer served him first, the look on his eyes telling the others that he only did so to shut him up. It worked. His mouth was occupied by the melt in your mouth pastries.

The spy came into the room at the same time the sniper returned from hiding his jars. A glare was sent to the bushman, who just brushed it off as he stole a pancake from the pan, half cooked.

"Slim, I wasn't done!" The engineer called.

"I like em raw." He said, sitting at the table. Engineer rolled his eyes and continued serving the hot cakes.

"Do you believe you will be cooking for everyone every day?" The spy asked, lighting a cigarette.

"Not sure, spook. Maybe? If anyone else knows how to cook, I'd be obliged to make a schedule and take turns." The tinker wondered.

"I can cook. Assuming we have ingredients that are not canned." He responded.

"Yeah, we get a shipment every week, so we get fresh produce and meat." The cook turned to the others in the room. "Who else?"

Mikhail kept his hand down. All he knew to make were sandwiches, and most cooking went to his mother and sisters. Not himself. The medic also didn't move. Scout sputtered something about his ma while his mouth was full, earning a disgusted sound from the spy. Sniper shrugged.

"I maybe can barbecue. Only over a fire pit."

"That's actually perfect, slim! A Friday end-of-the-work-week cookout!" Engineer congratulated. The others in the room agreed on it.

Pyro entered, mask and uniform still on, and collected two slices of bread and threw them into the toaster. Demoman was right behind them, nursing his head in a desperate attempt to quell the blistering headache.

"Doc, do ya have any aspirin?" He slurred. The medic nodded, and went back to his pancakes. They discussed meals and scheduling after the soldier marched in with only shorts and a wife beater on, his body sticky from sweating. He had apparently been running and doing basic training all morning. To everyone's surprise, he had a pair of WWII dog tags around his neck. Before anyone had a chance to question about them, he congratulated the engineer on a wonderful supper and breakfast as he snatched a pancake, insisting the tinker earned a medal. Engineer modestly looked away and said he didn't want Soldier to trouble himself. The helmeted male was insistent, and was not to be budged.

By the time everyone had cleaned up, it was decided that Engineer and Spy would alternate work days while Sniper would take the barbecue Friday night. Weekends, it was a free for all until the next shipment came in Sunday night. Heavy retreated to his room to get properly dressed out of his nightwear (a tank top and sweatpants) and into his designated uniform. To his delight, it was relatively friendly to his body.

There were few layers and had breathable material. His boots were steel toed, and while he never wore such things, he didn't mind the change. Other than the fact that it was a little heavier, it didn't bother him.

This first day of battle was actually just a practice round. They weren't going to face the other team until training had been finished. Instead, they were to face an enemy in multiple numbers and different classes In different waves of mercenaries. Mikhail wasn't sure what to expect, but whatever it was, he felt he had to be ready. This was the time for trial and error, and there was no shame now in making a mistake. Later, when real battles were waged, that's when there will be shame.

The whole team gathered into the respawn room and prepared their weapons. Mikhail looked over his gun with reverence and caressed its beautifully strong barrels. It looked brand new and seemed to be made for his hands. Yes, it truly did remind him of his father. He glanced over at his team and his breath hitched when his eyes met the form of the his German friend.

His uniform clung to his body, showing off his curves and straight posture. The almost white tan of his lab coat was pristine and almost gave the impression of a cape. Yes, he would be a hero to the the men. A credit to the team.

The doors opened. It was time.

Disaster. That's what the entire exercise was. A disaster. Mikhail didn't mind dying and going though respawn (though the first time was terrifying and when he woke up he had to take a minute to sit down from the nausea) so much as he did the administrator's voice of disapproval after every round.

Night had fallen, and Mikhail had never been so tired in his life. Not tired physically, but mentally. There was an abundance of finger pointing, and most of them were aimed at the medic who was supposed to protect them. The man had been given racial slurs as well as blamed for every single death. He didn't make any comment, but Mikhail wasn't fooled. He could see the anger and frustration in his eyes, and could almost hear the arguments that were on the tip of his tongue but failed to escape his mouth.

Speaking of the man, here he came now. Mikhail was resting after a particularly bad bout of respawn when he appeared, almost skipping towards him. The doctor seemed to be in a better mood than he ever had been since he came to the base, and he was happily pulling at his friend's appendages.

"Kommen! Kommen!" He exclaimed, acting very much like a child on Christmas.

"What doktor?" Mikhail asked.

"I have the organs! They sent me new ones as compensation! Kommen, meine Heavy!" The German danced around the giant, pulling at his arm. "We can now begin procedures for the über charge!"

Mikhail glanced over at the battlefield.

"Is battle now. Can't wait until-"

"Nein! We must do it now!" The doctor insisted impatiently. Heavy sighed and put Sasha away in his locker.

"Alright." He caved in. This was consent enough for the ecstatic German, who shoved the Russian down the hall hurriedly.

"I cannot wait!" He enthusiastically chanted until the pair were at the double doors of the Medidbay. He bid heavy to get comfortable as he gathered his utensils. As he did so, heavy became increasingly at unease. The doctor never took out any anesthetics.

He shook his head. He knew what he was doing, right?

Medic picked up a scalpel almost lovingly and flipped the switch on the suspended medigun. It's rays covered the Russian and gave a red luster effect on his skin.

"Doktor, I am not sure about this." Mikhail murmured carefully, not wanting to hurt the German's feelings. Said man waved a hand dismissingly.

"A small thing, very natural indeed. How about I tell you a story, ja? Pass the time?" He offered, making the first incision. To Mikhail's utmost shock, there was no pain. Just a feeling of a blade against his flesh. It was cold and very wet. It was unpleasant.

"I am not baby wanting bedtime story." The heavy insisted as a response.

"And so you are not!" Medic agreed fully, spreading the hole open with his hands, revealing the intestines and lungs. Now, Mikhail had studied anatomy in college, but seeing the organs in ones own body was totally different than identifying the body parts on a test. "But the story I have in mind is not one suited for babies, miene Heavy." The doctor assured. Mikhail despised that yes, he would like one, for seeing and feeling another's bare hands searching around under his rib cage and piles of organs for his heart was a little too disturbing for his taste. The doctor began his tale.

"It was three years into my practice and I finally had my own clinic you see! So I met a doctor there who has this curiosity that was farther than my own. So far, he even went and did experiments on patients that never needed surgery!"

Mikhail could see the humor in his eyes, and knew this was about to get messy.

"His last patient was a man who had wronged him a lifetime beforehand, and this doctor held grudges. Long grudges. But this individual believed all was well and forgotten." The suspense was building, and heavy paid attention with a rapture that dulled the knowledge that the medical man had severed his aorta and was beginning to cut away the other vessels.

"This doctor wanted go play a game in which to achieve the ultimate revenge on the man, so he pretended to be friendly and did things he would never do otherwise. He even invited him to his own home for dinner and tea!

"So the patient asked what was wrong with himself a month later, after being buttered up, and the doctor said "I'm so sorry, dear man, but you have a brain tumor the size of a grape fruit! I must operate or else you have two weeks to live!"

The pair then began to laugh with sick glee. Mikhail knew that the man probably never had a brain tumor, and the doctor was playing some sick joke on the poor soul.

"No, no, it gets better! When the patient woke up, his _skeleton_ was missing, and the doctor was never heard from again!" The medic burst into peals of laughter, which heavy followed right behind in. The whole situation was absolutely ridiculous, and fairly surreal. There was no way-

"Anyway, that's how I lost my medical license." Medic said with a small smile. Mikhail's breath stopped, and he was sure his heart would've done so too if it were not in the doctor's hand at the moment. He felt a flurry of claws and feathers and a warmth burry itself into his cavity and he stared down at a white dove that was perfectly happy nesting in his smaller intestine.

"Archimedes! No!" The doctor shooed the bird away. "It's _filthy_ in there, _ugh!_ " He glanced at Mikhail's stare and gave a small smile.

"Birds!" He laughed as if it explained everything. Turning away, the doctor (was he even a doctor?) picked up a strange looking device that Mikhail had to stare at.

"Now, most hearts couldn't withstand this voltage," Medic began, turning towards the suspended medigun. "But I'm fairly certain your heart-" there was an audible burst of blood and some muscly tissue flew over the man's shoulder and hit an innocent bird off its perch. Wait, where were these birds coming from?

"What was noise?" Mikhail asked, looking further around the corner of the lab table in order to get a better view.

"The sound of progress my friend." He dismissed, flicking off another piece of tissue from the device. Mikhail got a good look at it and almost puked. It was a piece of his heart. Oh god, what has he gotten into!? How was he to live? His sisters, his mother, they _needed_ him! They-

"Now, where was I?" The medic reappeared, holding a much larger heart than the previous one. This must have been the organs he was talking about. So he _had_ anticipated this possible outcome. How _thoughtful_.

He muttered to himself as he inserted the über charge into the muscle and held it under the medigun's light beams, coaxing it to glow and beat faster. It did so with surprising speed, and maniacal laughter joined into the fray, which Mikhail nervously watched. When it was all over, the medic nodded in approval before dropping it into the cavern that was Mikhail's stomach.

"Should I be awake for this?" He asked slowly, glancing at the potential madman. There was a small laugh as if he were brushing him off.

"Well, no." He responded, straightening his glasses with a bloody hand. "But as long as you are, could you hold your rib cage open?" The heavy did as he was told.

"I can't seem to-" there was a crack and a huge pressure left his bone frame. Mikhail looked at his hand and nearly panicked when he saw a rib between his fingers.

"Oh, don't be such a baby!" His friend said cheerfully as if he were talking to a small child, even pinching his cheek. "Ribs grow back!" There was a toss and the man leaned to his bird that say on the medigun, whispering a "no they don't" just audible enough for Mikhail to hear him.

This man was a maniac! But oddly endearing.

With an practiced swing, the mad scientist zoomed the beams closer to the open cavity and magnified their strength with a sadistic sneer of glee. Mikhail could only watch in shock, horror, and amazement as it healed him back to normal, with the exception of a staggering heartburn of the foreign object(s) in his chest. He took a deep breath and found with every intake of oxygen, it dulled. He was thankful for that much.

"What happens now?" He asked, feeling a new energy flow though his blood vessels and an anticipation to get back on the battlefield and try this theory out.

"Now," the doctor took his hand, the first time their skin ever touching. Mikhail felt his animal heart jump in his chest and a strange heat come over him. He pretended it never happened by smiling when his companion gave a small evil chuckle.

"Let's go practice medicine." He smirked, his eyes full of a strange curiosity that was hidden by a mass of sadistic glee and wonder.

Mikhail gulped as he saw the onslaught of soldiers heading their way. The medic had to heal only two people, but that didn't mean he wasn't missed from battle. It was strange how while he was in battle, he scarcely got a thank you and even was blamed for their losses, but the minute he disappeared, they cried and pleaded for him.

Mikhail snuck another glance over his cover. It had to be at least a hundred of them. He faced his comrade.

"Doktor, are you sure this will work!?" He asked, his worry blowing his stupid act for a moment. The doctor laughed as if he the Russian had said a joke.

"I have _no_ _idea_!" The German exclaimed. Mikhail had no time to argue, for Medic had pulled the switch and he was ready for the test. This was it. Either he became invincible or was to be blown to smithereens.

" _Life was never meant to be as easy as crossing a field, Misha._ " Mikhail remembered, a familiar warm voice booming to a small child. No, not now. He couldn't think of that _now_.

He leapt out into the open just as the beam connected with the device, his heart working overtime and a great shudder went though him that shook his entire frame. His skin turned red from the tiny blood vessels expanding and the glow came from the voltage that sparked through his cells, self healing themselves with every blow.

Heavy heard someone yelling out and exclaiming that he was "bulletproof". However, he didn't know who it was. All that mattered was that he kept on walking and killing the men in front of him. Adrenaline and energy swirled in his system, an invincibility that couldn't compare with anything that he had felt before. However, like all things, it had to come to an end. The beam died and his extra drive was cut off as soon as the connection was broken. He nearly collapsed in the suddenness of it, but caught himself just in time.

They returned after a resounding "victory" came from the administrator's lips, the first of hopefully many to come. Mikhail was about to put his things away when he found that someone was missing from the group. The giant turned and found the genius outside the respawn doors. Mikhail walked with the intent to join him and coax him inside when his feet wouldn't take him any further.

In the bright lights of the entrance of the respawn doors, the German inspected his blood coated hand with slight bemusement. The light covered his form in an almost heavenly caress of luminescence, embracing his features in an angelic glow. How divine was his form and stature!

"Do you want to know a secret, Heavy?" Medic asked almost silently. He glanced back at the giant with shining eyes that were glazed over in adrenaline and partial insanity.

"My mentors told me when I was just a student to never play God. They said it would be my downfall." He laughed with glee at the notion. "Perhaps they should see me now, making men invincible weapons of might under my influence!"

Mikhail felt his heart race faster than it ever had before, and the grip on Sasha began to slip. This _god_ was the most stunning, beautiful, intelligent man he had ever seen.

* To ease confusions that may occur, I think ill italicize the word "kinder". Problem is that the german word for children has the same spelling as the english word "kinder". See my issue? Yeah, think I'll do that. oh, and any other translations, I'm so sorry if they are wrong, for I have no german, french, russian, etc skills, and rely on stupid Google Translate. However, if any of you know any people speaking any of those languages that would be willing to help, please PM me!

* That actually happened at my high school (not to me, though). im not even kidding. I imagine that Demoman enjoyed chemistry so much at his school that he stayed a freshman to keep on taking it.

I'll just crawl into my cave and not come out because writing that scene for the surgery was the most painful thing I had ever done. It probably shows too.

I'm so sorry.

On a happier note, here is Ch 3's sneak peek on tumblr!: post/123490571487/they-have-been-with-me-for-nearly-ten-years-i


	3. Igniting a Fire

The whole training period of three days was a trial and error. The training was a breeze after the über charge development, and soon they were given a long weekend to recuperate. From Thursday to Sunday.

They had been so soaked up in training that their routine fell only to wake up, breakfast, fight till noon, 45 minute lunch break, fight till 5, rest, eat at 8, and then bed. No one diverted from this routine as far as Mikhail knew. This was now to be broken by the promise of a relaxing four days. Mikhail was grateful for the opportunity, but disliked how he had nothing to do. They were not given permission to leave base this time, so he was stuck there. Yes, he had books to read, but other than that, he was at a loss.

He really didn't want to talk to anyone, lest he get too comfortable with them and let something slip (really, pretending to be illiterate was tiring him, and his chest was bursting with all the things he _wanted_ to say, but _couldn't_ ). Furthermore, there were bound to be questions about his past, and he felt that there was only so long a period of time before he was cornered.

He decided to take a walk outside, to get some fresh air that wasn't forced down his lungs from laborious breathing during battle. The desert held its own beauty, and in the sunset that followed, it greatly reminded him of a painted canvas. Something abstract and wonderful.

"Wotcher, Heavy."

Mikhail jumped and looked around to see the lanky Australian behind him, hunting rifle in hand with two dead rabbits. The Russian sighed with relief and said a small hello.

"What are you doing out here? You've been standing there for nearly fifteen minutes, mate."

He had? He checked his watch. So he had. He turned back to the sunset.

"Just watch sky." He muttered. The sniper tossed the rabbits aside and joined the Russian upon viewing the universal expanse that was the heavens.

"Reminds me of home in the outback." The sniper said offhandedly. "What about you?"

Mikhail chuckled and shrugged.

"Is art. Like painting. It move. It feel."

"Yeah? I can see that." Sniper agreed. There was a slight pause before he collected his rabbits.

"You know something, big guy?" He asked, gaining the Russian's attention. "You're actually a pretty smart guy. Philosophical, anyway."

Mikhail forced a smile and shrugged.

"English make me sound stupid. If I speak Russian, words easy." He said, hoping the skinny man would not become skeptical. To his relief, sniper just tipped his hat and left to go to a camper van parked next to base. That must have been where he slept. It was rugged and quite old and worn. However, there was a certain aspect that really embraced the Aussie's personality.

Mikhail continued on around the base, familiarizing the area until it was well into dark. He decided it was high time to rest, and began walking back to the entrance. He passed the Sniper's van, which suddenly began to tip back and forth as if there was a lot of movement on the inside. Heavy raised an eyebrow, but jumped back when he heard a yell.

"SPOOK! GET YOUR POOFTAH ASS OUT OF MY VAN!"

Not even a half second later, the door was thrown open and a very familiar RED spy came tumbling out into the dirt, and skidding a little as he landed.

"AND _STAY_ _OUT_!" Sniper's head said, it poking out of the entrance before slamming the door shut again. There was an audible locking sound as the spy picked himself up and brushed his suit off. It was then that the Frenchman noticed Heavy.

"Ah, heavy. Off on a walk, I see." He said casually, as if he hadn't just been thrown face first into the dirt. Mikhail glanced at the sniper van.

"What you do?" He asked curiously. The Frenchman sighed wistfully.

"Let's just say that open doors are an invitation." He said with flourish, vanishing on the spot. Mikhail seriously doubted that such a thing was true. Besides, leave a door open and a murderer might come in, or a draft, or spiders. No, it was far too risky to keep open doors.

Unless...he seriously hoped Spy hadn't attempted anything less than honorary.

Dismissing what he just saw, Mikhail continued to the entrance and headed towards his room. Something stopped him in his tired strides and made him do a double take. The light was still on inside the Medibay, and he could hear sounds coming from the lab. The doctor was still up, and working. The Giant decided to bid the doctor goodnight while checking on him. The man hadn't slept well the past three nights, even though no one had come to him for injuries after battle. So what was wrong?

Heavy knew his protective nature was kicking in, but brushed it off as a mere worry for the wellbeing of a friend. That mattered, right? And it wasn't as if he were protecting him _all_ the time.

He knocked gently in the door before hearing medic admit him inside verbally. When he entered, his eyes widened at the mess that was everywhere. Spare parts and screws were jumbled in piles across the medical table and springs and other accessories were scattered across his desk. Medic sat in his chair, a dove in his lap and another über charge device in his hand. The dove was sleeping gently while he worked silently, his blue eyes focused on the screw he was placing into the designated hole.

"Doktor?" Heavy called, grabbing the medicinal man's attention.

"Ja?"

"I just come say goodnight. I see you still work. What plan?"

"Oh, I've had this idea tumbling in my head ever since we won that first battle. Think of it Heavy; what if we all had an über charge? That way anyone can have that power In case you are not available? So I am preparing seven others." He explained, his hands go going to work again. Mikhail looked around the room and saw that there were no other charges in sight.

"Where other? How many done?" He inquired.

"Including this one? Eins. One." Medic said, holding a now finished wonder tech. Mikhail gasped and stared at his doctor in shock.

"You work all night!"

"Probably." The medic dismissed, placing the object onto the desk.

"Doktor need rest." Heavy insisted.

"Meine Heavy, we have been though this. I know. But I am so close to achieving my goal and-"

"Doktor, have day off tomorrow. You work then."

"I plan on doing all the surgeries that day! I can finish these-"

"Tomorrow. Have day off. Good sleep now. It ten." Mikhail pushed, pointing to the clock on the wall. Medic glanced at it before taking the dove into his hands gently, the white bird waking up silently.

"Tu es mir lied, shatz." He muttered to the aerodynamic creature whom ruffled its feathers indignantly at being woken. He carried it to a perch, where it settled once more and fell asleep in no time. Did it just give an annoying look at the medic?

"Fine. I see that you will not budge on this subject." The German stated pointedly. "I will sleep, but I will wake up early tomorrow." He sounded like a teenager who wanted to have the last word. Mikhail knew when to compromise, and backed off. It was enough that he was going to bed.

"You know I say this...because I care." He said, pretending to find the right word. The medic gave him a look that was unreadable but then he smiled so charmingly that it took Heavy off guard.

"I know. You should get some sleep as well, miene freund. Gute Nacht." Medic expressed gently, walking to the back room that Mikhail assumed was his bedroom. He took that as his leave, and quickly left for his room. He slept uneasily that night, the image of the doctor's unreadable face in his mind and haunting his dreams.

The next morning brought a headache and an unfitting sleep. Mikhail had to literally drag himself out of bed and practically oozed out into the hallway, deciding he had to take a shower in order to wake up.

As he washed himself, he felt his body grow a little more energetic, and thoughts began to swirl in his head again. What was that look that the medic had given him? It wasn't anything negative, but it wasn't positive either. Neutral? No, neutral suggested no emotion. There was an emotion there, and a reason was right behind the center of his steely eyes.

Was he overreacting? Maybe? Maybe. Mikhail didn't want to accuse the man of anything when he knew nothing at all. That would be jumping to conclusions, and Mikhail always tried to avoid such a thing. It was wiser to talk less and listen more. Mikhail heard footsteps and tried to stay calm.

Mikhail's problem with liking other men in a society that was primarily straight was that others expected him to like women as well, and had no qualms of showing off their bodies, regardless of the fact that a man may or may not be on the same path of sexuality. It was irksome and uncomfortable. Right after the incident in college, he knew to shower first or last, or with people he wasn't attracted to. When he moved here, it was like starting up an old routine of getting on the bicycle; you never forget. He showered alone or with the kid, who talked about girls and miss Pauling so much that Mikhail couldn't be bothered by his chatty nature anymore.

The man who came in was his worst fear.

Medic.

His glasses were off and he was in nothing but a towel. He had a slight sag to his eyes and his back was less than straight with his black hair everywhere. He appeared as if he were...well, like he just woken up. And he was absolutely adorable. The doctor stopped, straightened, and stared at Heavy with narrow eyes.

"Is that you, Heavy?" He asked quietly.

"Da, is me." Mikhail assured, though he was panicking inside. He was glad the doctor was blind as a bat, because he was doing a very bad job of hiding his attraction as well as the nervousness across his face.

"Thought so." The doctor murmured, unwrapping his towel from his waist, Mikhail looking away with a jerk of the head. While he may have been attracted to men, he wasn't about to disrespect them by staring. Especially not Medic.

There was a slight pause before the man stepped under the showerhead next to the giant. Mikhail tried not to curse, and succeeded verbally. Mentally, he was saying words that would make his mother have a heart attack, die, and roll in her grave. This was bad. This was so wretched. The temptation was almost irresistible. Scratch, that; it's completely irresistible. Mikhail allowed himself a quick peek at the German out of the corner of his eye.

The medic's fingers laced through his hair sensually, his breath coming out in an enormous sigh from the warmth of the water, those beautifully parted lips allowing the breath of life to escape the man. He was a work of art with a lean but muscular frame. Fit, healthy, and chest hair that was slightly graying around the edges. The water streamed down his body laden with faint scars and stretch marks, towards his navel that had a slight comfortable pudge of muscle and fat and leading to pubic-

Heavy slammed on the cold water, forgetting his mistake he made in college and repeated it. The German's once closed eyes flew open and he yelled out a noise of surprise and horror before leaping out of the stream. Heavy slammed his head against the wall and actually cursed aloud in his native tongue.

"What the hell!? Did something happen to the plumbing?" Medic asked, shivering slightly. Mikhail's face burned with shame and embarrassment, feeling that awful sickness that came with anxiety.

"I think I'll talk to demo-"

"Nyet, doktor." Mikhail interrupted, switching his showerhead off. "Nothing wrong with water."

Medic gave a confused look to his back.

"So they are all connected, ja?"

The heavy nodded, bracing himself for the question that he was certain to ask.

"Well that is just poor design! I'm appalled!" The doctor admonished, shaking his head. Heavy stared at the man in shock. He wasn't going to ask why he did it? What was this about!?

"You'd think that with the millions of dollars that goes through this industry, they'd have better beds and showers." Medic continued, oblivious to Mikhail's gaze.

Shaking his head again, Medic snatched the towel he had earlier from the bench and strode away into the bathroom. On his way out, Mikhail caught a glimpse of the German's behind.

After nearly drowning himself in cold water again and successfully becoming annoyed with his dirty mind, he exited the shower to find the medical man petting three birds as they played in the water in one of the sinks.

"They followed me here!" The medic chirped amusedly. Mikhail remembered his question that he meant to ask.

"Doktor, where birds come from?" He asked.

"Well birds come from an egg, but don't ask me where the egg came from! But I will be happy to debate which came first-" the medic ceased when he noticed the puzzled look Mikhail was giving him.

"Oh, you mean _my_ birds. Well, you see, they were a part of the other package I specifically asked for alongside the organs. Remember?"

Mikhail recalled, though the doctor never actually said what the other package was. This was alright, and the answer eased his confusion. Mikhail dried off his body with a separate towel, the one around his waist for modesty.

"I have to finish those über charges by 11 or else I won't be able to do the surgeries in one day." Medic said to himself, dressing his legs in black pants.

Mikhail commended the doctor in his mind about his sense of style. He was a man's man, but was classy at the same time. He had pulled on a white button up polo and left the first two buttons undone with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Mikhail could get used to seeing medic like that.

"How long make charge?"

"Approximately two hours. It has very specific mechanics, and I am no engineer- of course!" The doctor was hit by a realization, but then shook his head.

"What doktor?" Mikhail pressed.

"I just thought I could ask engineer to help, but he wouldn't understand my vision and may change the design. And it would disturb my ideals of trade secrets. I will talk about the medigun, but I refuse to speak in detail about the über charge and its particular workings." He explained. The Russian nodded and understood his skepticism. The problem of having such a thing was that if one was too lenient with such power, it could fall into the wrong hands and end in disaster.

"Doktor be busy, then." Mikhail observed.

"Ja. Extremely. What are you doing to pass the time?" The doctor questioned. He seemed genuinely curious. Mikhail shrugged.

"Read book. Have new one."

"Oh? What is it?"

"Is Russian. Brought before I leave home." Mikhail brushed the doctor off, likewise putting on his clothes. The German shrugged but didn't push the matter. Instead, he reached for a bag that Mikhail had not seen earlier and took out a few cylinder containers. One was aftershave, one was shaving cream, and the last was deodorant. Mikhail could see the slight stubble on the doctor, but nothing too long. He involuntarily ran a hand over his chin and neck to check his own status. He was fine. If there was one thing he liked about himself, it was that his facial hair grows slowly, and the hair on his head was so short it could only be categorized as fuzz.

The doves in the sink cooed loudly and crowded around the man. They were walking all over him as he shaved, a very odd sight for Mikhail's eyes.

"They love the foam." The German said over his shoulder as an explanation. True to his word, one of the doves smeared a glob off the side of the sink and rolled in it, enjoying the froth of the white shaving substance. Mikhail grinned at the scene and decided to leave the doctor with his pets.

The book he had in mind was actually something an old classmate suggested to him right before they had to flee to the mountains. When he was in Finland after being smuggled out, he bought the illegal print.

It was _One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich_ and apparently it told of a daily routine a man made in the Gulag. Or at least, that's what the girl had said. He had been interested, but not for the reasons most of his comrades thought. He wanted to see if this book were an actual true telling of the life in the gulag, and not some bogus romanticized version of such sensitive nature. It was banned in the Soviet Union, so it made sense that it would be realistic.

 _Animal Farm_ was another title he wanted to read, but again, it was banned in his nation. Leaving the Soviet Union was the perfect opportunity to read more varied content then that of the same styled Soviet novels that he read every day in school. It began to be repetitive, and based off of his father's views, they were telling lies on every page.

But _Animal Farm_ was not a book he would read out in the open for it was in English and would blow his cover. He received it in London, where the Russian mafia picked him up after being flown from Finland and gave him a transport to America. He had never been so happy to see past friends of his father in his life before. They mourned over the death of his paternal parent, but rejoiced in receiving his PhD, for it was not as simple as it was in America to go to college. What he didn't tell them was that all the transcripts and documents that he passed to the university were forged by another friend of the family in hiding. He hoped both families were still intact and well.

Snatching the Cyrillic printed book from his small shelf in his room, he decided to sit in the rec room and wait breakfast to be cooked by the spy.

The Frenchman didn't disappoint the stereotypical expectation that he could cook and often made dishes that looked and tasted like they belonged in a five star restaurant. Furthermore, he had several courses, as was, "the French way," he stated. He didn't warn scout of this, which was revenge within itself for the European.

Scout had assumed there was only one course, so he stuffed himself then, and was too full to enjoy the fabulous food that came later. The spy never looked so satisfied in his time at the base. It was harmless, and the scout had learnt his lesson. Lay off the spy. He cooks your food. In turn, the runner was also less of a hassle to engineer as well. Now, that's not to say that he was completely cured, but he took a hint when the engineer or spy was at the end of their rope.

Mikhail sat on the lumpy and spring filled couch facing the tiny TV in the rec room and opened his book, beginning to read.

It was a relatively short read, but the content was rich and full of details. What he didn't bargain for was the memories that came rushing back and the horrors of living in the gulag brought. The exhaustion of extreme work and little food given was enough to make anyone a living skeleton. Mikhail and his sisters were lucky; they were only there for a short time, but long enough to know the danger and the appalling living conditions. He remembered having to fight off soldiers from his younger sisters, and even his mother. If there was a hell on earth, that was it. There was no mourning for his father. He forced himself to work even when he was obviously sick. If his father wasn't so proud and refused any help from the infirmary, he probably would still be with them.

When he was dead, the soldiers buried him in a mass grave, no service, no marker. It angered Mikhail worse than anything he had ever felt before. He was angry with the soldiers. He was mad at his father. And most of all, he was angry with himself. If only he had tried harder...if he had pushed his father a little more to take care of himself...the day he vowed to protect his family, he made a second one to himself; no one would die if he had anything to say about it.

He was about halfway through the book when Soldier entered the room, glancing around as if he were looking for something.

"What look for?" Mikhail asked, closing his novel. Soldier looked under the coffee table and glanced at the Russian. Or at least, Mikhail thought he was looking at him. He really couldn't tell because of the helmet.

"I'm looking for my marbles. Engie says I seemed to have lost them." He said, looking around the rug that was faded and stained. Mikhail was struck by a strange choice. Should he explain the particulars of the expression or should he let the man be? Deciding the latter, he went back to his book. There was no way to convince an insane person to see sense.

The supposed soldier left the room shortly after that, and Spy took his place. Instead of searching the room for something that was not there, he went straight to the oven and began making breakfast. The Frenchman practically glided in a dance of familiarity in the kitchen, a ballet of multitasking and skill that was ahead in class and poise. His grace was extreme, but Mikhail was blind to it.

It wasn't a natural grace; it was one that came from practice and high standard upbringing expectations. Spy was a man who was the master of learning a skill. He learnt fast and made it his business to become the best at it. He was a regular James Bond.

The scents that came from the kitchen attracted more than one mercenary, and they watched the spy whenever it was his turn, mesmerized at how he was able to taste test everything, keep an eye on bread, prepare garnish, season meat, and hold a conversation all at once. Scout made it a goal to see how well the spy could keep up with his subject changes and rapid speaking tempo whenever Spy cooked.

However, Scout always failed at this sport, and soon became tongue tied, thus losing the game. Spy reveled in every victory against the kid, but remained detached all the same. Therefore, he portrayed the art of subtlety in his revenge. However, his flirtatious nature towards the sniper was not under the art of subtlety, and often was blatantly obvious if one spoke French.

Sniper was no such man, and so far proved to be one of the men to have never passed high school. Soldier was another one who didn't, but he said it was for noble causes that he dropped out in senior year. Scout passed, but never went further. Demo never went father than high school either, but he supposed it was because of repeating freshman year multiple times. Engineer had 11 PhDs, and Mikhail himself had one as well. Medic obviously went to school and achieved a license before losing it. And Pyro was...well, they were more likely to burn down the _school_ rather than learn anything there.

Spy finished the meal in no time, and placed each dish as if it were an art form. Mikhail almost was sorry to eat off of it. Breakfast was surprisingly not what most would believe. It was usually buttered toast, and jam that was made earlier. This morning, however, Spy made croissants with a side of bitter chocolate sauce.

His explanation was that he noticed how disappointed everyone seemed to be when he presented regular toast the last time. He explained how the French cuisine that most know of is actually restricted to dessert and dinner*. Breakfast was usually small. No meat and no sweets.

So instead of making them "suffer and starve," he obliged just this once of a more fine croissant. Truth was that he was already breaking the rules by serving a dessert topping at breakfast.

"Well, if it pains you so much, I can help you by taking that chocolate sauce off your hands." Sniper sneered, snatching the small cup from the spy. The Frenchman rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Their relationship was growing into something a little more of a begrudging acceptance of each other. Unless Spy goes wandering into camper vans again. Then the cycle starts up again of sniper hating his guts and then cooling off. But Spy never got angry with the sniper. On the contrary, he seemed to like it when the bushman was angry.

Despite the occasional B&E (breaking and entering) Spy was alright. Yes, he had that self satisfaction that could be rivaled with the Scout, snooped into things he shouldn't, smoked all the time, and had a knack for disappearing in the middle of conversations, but he had a trait the was admirable.

Though he hid his concern and pretended to not care at all, he was the one who cared the most. He was, as some may put it, the team dad. But not a babysitter.

After breakfast, Mikhail made it a goal of the day to clean Sasha. She was expensive, so it would make sense that he should take care of her. That, and he weren't so sure if he wanted to finish reading his book. It reminded him too much of what he had to do to escape with his sisters and mother.

Sasha was just as he left her; in his room, next to his bed. He trusted no one with this weapon. Being a man who lived in such poor and destitute means from fleeing everywhere, anything that was worth more than the apartment he and his family had in St. Petersburg, he thought it to be impossible to achieve in his lifetime. This gun was worth six apartments. _No_ _one_ was allowed to touch Sasha.

It consisted of many parts with minuscule nooks and crannies. Cleaning this gun as thorough as he wanted was going to take a while. He thought around two hours. However, upon closer inspection, he discovered that it actually took four. The time was lost, however. Mikhail didn't notice the clock's ticking, nor the sun moving across the sky as it does every day. All he thought of was the memories and the loving hands of his male parent that seemed to live on though Sasha.

Now that he thought about it, as he put the weapon back in place, it seemed horrible to keep her on the floor. She deserved better.

Deciding to think on it later, he strolled to the rec room, where he found soldier...again.

"Found marbles, soldier?" Mikhail asked. The American straightened in his seat on the couch and held up Mikhail's book.

"This is written in communist, son! There's a communist among us!" He proclaimed. Mikhail took a moment to process the ridiculousness of the helmeted wannabe army man. Surely he knew Mikhail was a Russian?

"Did you not hear me, fellow American? We have a communist here!" Soldier exclaimed, standing up and poking the giant's chest hard. Apparently not. Mikhail paid no heed to the small physical contact.

"Is bad." He said.

"Affirmative! We must track the invader immediately!" The American agreed.

"I search here and lab." Mikhail offered.

"Yes! You do that! I will find this communist even if I have to start WWIII!" Soldier said, pointing to the ceiling again. His chest puffed out and marched out of the room. Mikhail sighed and picked up his novel, shaking his head.

The man was the most insane individual he had ever met.

He decided to go to the lab where his German friend was.

The doctor was preparing the examination table and all the tools necessary for surgery. He was finished with the other charges. Mikhail entered and gave a small hello.

"Busy?" He asked.

"I was twenty minutes ago, but I have a free moment." The doctor said. The surfaces of the lab were cleaned up and everything was in top condition. Later, once he started, the blood would practically paint everything. Would he even wash his hands in between surgeries?

"Did you enjoy your book?" The German asked casually, sitting in his desk chair.

"Da, it was good." Mikhail lied. He sat down as well and found the charges.

"They different size." He noted.

"Oh yes. See, the one I made originally was relatively large, but I figured that if I needed to place it on a smaller heart, like say, scout's, it may not fit the organ." He explained, playing with a pen that was on the desk.

"Why not do transplant like me?" Mikhail asked. The doctor froze and stared at Mikhail, looking like an employee that was in trouble with his boss.

"You know?"

"I not mind. You had control." The Russian assured. The German relaxed, but stood up.

"How are you feeling? Any side effects or symptoms since I operated?"

"No. Hurt, but used to feeling. Not hurt anymore." There was a break in the conversation as the doctor once more had that same look he had the night before, after Mikhail convinced the man to sleep. The one that Mikhail couldn't read. It was disconcerting, to say the least, but the German then smiled the same way as before and left the lab, saying he was off to announce the next procedures to the team. Mikhail looked at the large clock on the wall and noticed it was high time for lunch. He followed the doctor, that facial expression still burnt into his mind.

The overall reception of the surgery announcement was, as one would expect for a team of people with varying sanity levels. The most sensible ones panicked and tried to come up with excuses. The not so sane but still had a brain were worried about it hurting. And the downright gone asked for it first.

Scout got his wish to be the one to achieve the next über charge after Heavy. Mikhail figured that he might as well be in the waiting room along with the others, even though there was not any reason why he really should be there.

Engineer pulled out his guitar and strummed a small tune that sounded like it went along with campfire stories. Sniper sat on his seat, slouched down with his hat over his face, seemingly trying to sleep. The soldier stood at attention, his lip partially quivering. It seemed like he didn't quite like doctors. Spy slouched for once, while Pyro read a magazine. Or were those comics? Either way, it was a colorful pictured print media. Demo seemed to be well on his way to being drunk.

"Does it hurt, Heavy?" Engineer asked. Heavy shrugged.

"Little. But better later." He assured. The Texan nodded.

"Last surgery I had was in my right hand." He murmured, as if it were a distant memory.

"What for?" The sniper murmured from under his hat.

"Oh, had a bit of an accident." He said, lowering his head to the point where his hard hat covered most of his face. The embarrassment was as apparent as the color of his helmet.

" _Accident, my foot,"_ Mikhail thought. The spy shook his head.

"Medic is insane. I cannot believe he wants us _all_ to have a charge!" He said bitterly.

"I die, who get charge? Not take chance." Mikhail defended. The spy glanced his way.

"When on this god forsaken earth would a _spy_ receive a charge? Spies do not charge into battle guns blazing. We sneak our way in and take out the enemy from the inside out." Spy reasoned. "It'd make more sense if Soldier or Pyro gets the charge."

"They are." Mikhail pointed out. The spy sighed and rolled his eyes.

" _Just_ them."

"Look, guys, I trust the doc. Besides, who's to say you may never get a charge?" Engineer said, trying to quell the peace.

"The _bushman_ obviously won't." Spy muttered. Sniper looked like he was about to jump up and argue with the Frenchman, but a ding stopped any words that would've escaped the Aussie. The doors burst open with the scout holding his arms out as if he were expecting applause and confetti at his mere presence.

"O-ho-ho _MAN_! You would not _BELIEVE_! How much this _hurts_." He exclaimed, clutching his chest. A lump pushed upwards where his hands were and a too familiar coo to Mikhail rebounded from Scouts recently healed cavity. Mikhail covered his mouth in shock. Was that-

"Archimedes?" Medic called.

It took around an extra thirty minutes to strap the panicking scout back onto the examination table and remove the beloved bird from the loudmouth. Medic was frantic to get his bird out, and when he did so, he kissed and petted it like it had just died. The bird seemed fine, however. In fact, it seemed very pleased with itself. The scout, after being resealed, called the doctor a psycho Nazi for caring more for a bird than a human being, which caused all hell to break loose.

Medic pulled out his bone-saw and screamed in bloody rage in his native tongue that he was going to slash out the runner's vocal chords and feed them to his doves. Heavy tried to pull the doctor off the Bostonian and the engineer attempted to calm the German down. During this of chaos, the scout screamed like a girl for his ma, and was confessing all sorts of things he did to get in the slammer terrified he wouldn't make it to heaven if he didn't proclaim his wrong doings.

It ended only when Spy burst into the lab and threatened to roast the German's beloved pigeons in the next meal if medic didn't put the bone-saw down. The German was at a loss for words and dropped his tool for good measure. The Bostonian was still screaming and wailing on the table, and shut up when the sniper marched in and smacked the kid across the face.

Everyone was thrown into silence as the whole situation was taken in. Heavy was holding the medic by the upper arms and was practically lifting the man off the ground. The scout was breathing hard, his eyes fearfully wide and shining with tears, his head turned to the side. Sniper was above the kid, staring at the spy with large eyes over his shades as the latter male picked up the saw and placed it on a side table. Engineer was the first to recover.

"Ok, y'all, excitement's over. Let's just keep going. Stretch, mind helping me get Scout out of this?" The Texan said, reaching for the binds. Sniper broke out of his dubious daze and quickly aided the multiple PhD male. As soon as scout was free, he practically flew out of the lab and down a hall where he disappeared.

Mikhail put the doctor down as the latter elbowed him in the side as a stiff warning. The Russian backed off and left the lab, Spy and engineer tailing behind him. The next person was Sniper, who looked pale as a ghost, and looked like he was pleading with the other members of the team "don't leave me alone with this psychopath!"

As it turned out, Sniper was fine, with the exception of puking as soon as he saw the scalpel. Engineer was shortly after and motioned to the others when he was done that the man still wasn't in the best of moods. While Spy was inside the operation, Engineer and Sniper approached Heavy.

"Is it true? How medic lost his license? That he cut off a man's penis because the patient was sleeping with his wife?" Engineer asked. Mikhail's eyes widened.

"That's what he told you? He told me he skinned a man alive with a potato peeler for research." The Aussie said, shivering slightly. Mikhail shook his head.

"Not he say to me." He said. The engineer and sniper shared a look and left afterwards. Spy came out pale as a ghost and stared at the Russian incredulously.

"I cannot believe you two are friends. What sick humor do you two share?" The spy demanded. Heavy shrugged.

"What he say?" He asked.

"He used a fountain pen as a scalpel because he lost the last surgical blade in his set." The spy exclaimed, making a disgusted face. Mikhail sighed. It seemed the doctor had a very strange twisted sort of humor, and he wasn't about to say why his medical license was taken.

The demo was next, and he was so drunk that Mikhail had to help the doctor carry the man onto the operating table. When the demo stumbled out of the lab, waving his near empty scrumpy bottle, he was partially crying.

"The ruddy bloke said he had a collection of patient eyeballs! And that he kissed his license goodbye because of it!" He wailed, staggering down the hall.

Pyro was still reading, and it seemed as if the firebug had never moved throughout the entire roller coaster of events. When they were called, they practically skipped inside. They didn't come out that way. They ran out of the lab with muffled sounds coming out of the mask as if they were crying. They draped themselves over the heavy and whined out some sentences that even Mikhail with all of his language capabilities couldn't understand. He settled with patting the being on the head gently before the Pyro sought an audience that actually understood them. Mikhail watched the last merc go, feeling a strange apprehension for his friend. Not because of the things he heard, but whether or not the doctor was in the mood to talk.

When he summed up the courage to check on his companion, the man was sitting at his desk, a dove in his lap and blood cleaned off of his gloves. He looked to be in deep thought, but not necessarily in a bad mood. Mikhail asked anyway if the doctor wanted to be alone.

"Nein, Heavy. I would not mind company." He sighed, petting the bird gently on the head. The Russian took the seat across from the man.

"What say to Pyro?" Mikhail asked, curious.

"Oh." The medic chuckled. "I told the Pyro I cured a man with burns using ice."

There was a pause as Mikhail waited for the rest.

"That it?"

"That's it. A strange one, Pyro is." The medic said simply. Then his face turned serious and gratifying.

"Meine freund, I hope you know that I appreciated you being there for...that." The heavy nodded.

"If ok ask, why mad about name? Scout is stupid child." Mikhail said. The German shook his head in dismissal at the Russian's reasoning, his face scowling.

"I cannot stand those schweinehundes. They did so much harm...surely you know what was going on at the time?" The German asked at the end. The Russian gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"I hear story from red army about invaders and what did to women and children. Saw broken St. Petersburg." Mikhail revealed. The German seemed to not be satisfied with his answer.

"You cannot tell anyone this, meine freund. It is my darkest secret." Medic demanded, his blue eyes darkening. Mikhail nodded, promising.

"I am a Jew...or I was one before the war and the Nazis came to power in Stuttgart." He revealed. Mikhail felt the air tense and the doctor hold his breath and his eyes watching him like an eagle for his reaction. The Russian nodded.

"Da, I not say anything. Secret safe." He agreed. So what if the doctor was Jewish? What did that have to do with the Nazis? Were they persecuted under them like so many other cultures had prior? It wasn't uncommon. Even in Russia they were ostracized.

The dove broke the tension by cooing and pecking the doctor's gloved hand gently, demanding attention. The German smiled at the bird.

"What name?" Mikhail asked, motioning to the white ball of feathers.

"Althaia. It's a Greek name. She's Archimedes' mate. Hopefully I will be expecting babies soon enough." The German said hopefully. He looked up into the rafters, which Mikhail's gaze followed. There were seven other birds up there.

"There's Hippocrates and his mate, Amalthea. And Ptolemy and his mate, Eudora. And finally Socrates and _his_ mate, Callisto." He introduced. The last one was obviously Archimedes, who was still covered in blood. Mikhail watched them interact with each other before looking back at his friend, who was holding the female to his face.

"How tell apart?" Mikhail asked.

"They have been with me for nearly ten years." he murmured. The giant nodded in understanding.

"I find that they have more loyalty and companionship than any other animal." Medic continued, nuzzling the Greek named female gently with his nose. She brushed back with her head and ruffled her tail feathers, the bird almost looking like she was smiling. The whole image of a half insane doctor who had no problem tearing people apart and putting them back together in potentially life threatening surgeries while tossing objects into cavities he created just to see what sticks, caressing and kissing a small helpless dove with a love that went beyond animal human partnership was endearing and made Mikhail smile.

"Speaking of companionship…" The doctor turned to the heavy. "A part of that concerns a certain amount of trust, does it not?" He inquired. Mikhail shifted in his seat nervously, fearing the worst. That look was back in the doctor's face.

"I told you some secrets of mine, it's only fair you do the same. Such as, say, w

hy you pretend to only know partial bits of the English language when you obviously are fluent."

Mikhail's fear peaked and he was struck cold with uncertainty. He had been found out. He was at a crossroads, and this moment now may ruin a friendship he had come to lov

e and cherish as much as his family, short as it had been. On one hand there was his family that were depending on him to protect them, and the most absolutely safe way was to remain silent about anything personal. On the other, this man had given him a chance at being happy, a friendship that could potentially last a lifetime. However, that all could change in a blink of an eye, and one word could end Mikhail's one chance.

Could he trust this man?

* Both of the books mentioned were banned in the Soviet Union for propaganda purposes. I recommend them both as a good reads

* Finland was an ally of the Soviet Union only so that another war could be avoided. It was a neutral country in order to avoid conflict from either side of the Cold War. It would've been easier to enter and exit the Soviet Union though Finland than to go though East Germany or Southeast Europe

* Cyrillic is the letter system in Russia. If you don't know what I'm talking about, example: the romanized letters for "no" in russian is "nyet," but in their written language in Cyrillic, it is "нет".

* French dining in the morning is usually a light pastry or cereal. They consider French toast, éclairs, and pancakes as desserts. It's the equivalent of eating ice cream for breakfast.

I was hungry when I was writing Spy's cooking.

Ooooohhhhhh Heavy is in trouble! What's he going to do?

Anybody scratching their heads as to why Mikhail knows nothing about the situation in Europe during WWII? Keep reading. Don't worry, it'll be addressed. As for the medic... it makes more sense to me that he's Jewish rather than a Nazi. That too will be addressed eventually.

sneak peek on tumblr- post/123827495292/the-slav-gritted-his-teeth-behind-his-lips


	4. Burning Away

"I…do not know you mean." Mikhail denied, buying time to think of an escape.

"Oh, I know you do, Heavy. Do you honestly think me of a simpleton? Because you skills in deception are lacking." The doctor stated, putting the female dove onto his desk and approaching the giant, the latter backing away into a wall. "You are not the simpleton that you have portrayed yourself to be, but yet this façade was not well thought out on your part."

"Doktor, you tired after work all day. Is-"

"I have lived with liars all my life, Heavy. Do _not_ trifle with me by joining their numbers." The doctor threatened, cutting Mikhail off. The Russian put his back to the wall, trapped under the doctor's eyes of that look he had questioned over an entire night. He decided he hated that look on his friend, but…his mother, his sisters…they mattered more. They always have. And this doctor wasn't about to change that.

"Doktor…I can not."

"Why keep this up, Heavy? You have been caught in your own game-"

"I CAN NOT SAY. IS ALL YOU NEED KNOW." Heavy insisted, pushing the medical man away from himself harshly. Medic stumbled back in shock from the force used and stared at the Russian. Mikhail looked genuinely hurt, and he felt his chest breaking open. This agony of separating himself was worse than anything he had ever felt before. But his family was something he could sacrifice his happiness for. He had in the past, but why was this pain worse? He had been in relation with this European for only four days!

But they had fought together, they had eaten together, and they have died together. That made it all the difference. If this were a relationship in college, he could easily brush this off. But he had _died_ for this man. What justification was this connection? It went beyond the contract, he was positive of this.

"You do not trust me." Medic murmured. Mikhail felt as if he had been shot. The man sounded emotionally crushed with this new realization, and Heavy knew he was the cause of it. "Do you deny it?" the German demanded. Mikhail refused to look at him.

"Well, you already deny everything else, so why not deny this too? Who is it going to harm? Doesn't matter that I told you one of my darkest secrets and trust _you_ enough to be _my_ friend. I'm only sorry that the feelings were not mutual, and ashamed to ever have felt them. They were real and heartfelt. " Medic shrugged, flippantly dismissing the Russian. Said Slav gritted his teeth behind his lips in frustration and his fists were clenched hard as rocks by his sides. The medic started to turn away but was snatched by a hand on his wrist, stopping him and gluing the German in place.

"I…Doktor, it is hard to trust when there are men want you and the people you care about dead, and anyone could-"

"Turn you in?" the German spat, his eyes full of anger. "You are preaching to a choir, Heavy." Medic smacked his hand and managed to pull out of the giant's grip, and stormed away without another word. Nothing but the slam of a door broke the silence, but Mikhail was deaf to it. Even though the doctor hadn't hurt him physically, his words struck a nerve, and it was the over that opened the floodgates to all the pain Mikhail had hidden away over the years.

He had to get away. He had to leave.

Mikhail fled to his room like a child did, but he knew this was for privacy and didn't care that dinner was being called. He wasn't hungry. He didn't care how childish it may have been, but bed sounded better than anything at the moment.

It was an odd feeling of mixture of sadness, anger, and self-hatred that swirled in his brain. Why did he have to live such a secretive life? Why couldn't he have had a normal one? Why couldn't he have total control over what he said without having to worry about his family's safety? He didn't know what to do, and he felt in the pit of his stomach a feeling of blatant yearning for his mother's comforting words. That was impossible, for he had commanded them to never write. It was safer if there was no risk of their contact being intercepted.

Mikhail collapsed onto his bed with a groan, the medic's words haunting him.

Telling him that he was a Jew seemed to be a big deal to Medic, and he almost seemed terrified to in the first place of revealing such information. Mikhail supposed it was understandable, but they were no longer in Europe. America was where people came to be free, so he shouldn't worry at all about something like that*. Mikhail knew Jews were not appreciated very often in Christian cultures, and were often hated. Even his own czarist Russia caused a mass emigration before he was born*. But that was before he was even born.

Doctor was a little crazy, but that was more because of experience rather than the faith he grew up with. Actually, it had _nothing_ to do with his faith.

Why were they hated anyway? Mikhail couldn't recall an explanation from his father, only that there were few Jews in Russia in comparison to the past, and that one of their family friends was among them. He was thankful enough that his father didn't hate them when he was still alive.

In college, they expected you to know a certain amount of history, so the professor never went in depth about anything. He mentioned the Red Army freeing a large camp during the Great Patriotic War in Poland and other countries, but never said their purpose, or who was detained there. He only said it was the evil German invader's hatred for anyone not like themselves that caused it.

Mikhail was running away the entire war with his father, and his father never fought for obvious reasons. He so much as went near that front - swimming with solders and high officials - he would be forced to fight in a prison group*. He didn't want to support any soviet led cause, even if it was protecting the country. He supposed his father was selfish in that way. Mikhail saw the destruction and the pain the war caused, and Soviet government or not, these was his people. He held a love for them that could not be replaced.

Mikhail wanted to be mad at Medic for seeing through his lie. Oh god, he _really_ wanted to be mad. But he couldn't. He physically couldn't be mad at the doctor. The man had a point. He was lying to everyone by pretending to be something he wasn't. No one liked a liar, even if it were for a good cause. The issue was that he sincerely thought that even if he were to tell Medic the truth, it was unlikely that he would take that as a reasonable explanation. If anything, he probably would call him out again for not trusting him.

He didn't see the medic as "a simpleton," as the german put it. if anything, he saw him as pure genius. Albeit, insane, but all the geniuses were a little crazy in their own way. Medic just…happened to like disregarding the Hippocratic oath. He didn't think of him as a stupid person and thought him incapable to figure out his secret. No, he merely…hoped no one would notice. Instead, the german was impeccable at weeding out his charade. The medic was right; he had not thought his cat through. Now that he thought about it, he was inconsistent with what he knew of the English language, and as a result, it made it so obvious. Did the rest of the team _know?_ Were they just being silent about it?

Mikhail fell asleep with these troubling thoughts.

The morning was no better than it was the night before. When he entered breakfast of French toast (Spy laughed at this) and eggs prepared by Engineer, his eyes immediately went to the doctor's place at the table. He sat there, but he was speaking to no one. If anything, Medic gave off an aura so thick of livid countenance that even scout with his inability to read atmosphere stayed far away. or perhaps he was still scared of the scientist after yesterday's operation accident. Heavy dared not go near the man.

If there was one thing that people mistaken about the medic, it was that he _could_ fight, and he was deadly with a bone-saw. A ticked off medic was like dealing with a honey badger; you will be harmed and in most cases, killed. A perfect example was when scout called the German a Nazi the night before. Medic may be on the same team as himself, but the doctor could very well pull the same "skeleton prank" he did in the case where he lost his medical license. Or was that even the truth? The other mercs had come to Heavy, knowing he and Medic were friends, and demanded to know if their version he told them was true.

He collected his helping of food and as soon as the medical man saw the Russian, he left hurriedly, claiming he had paperwork to fill out. The others in the room stared at the retreating form of the german, and then looked to Mikhail for answers.

"He mad at me. We fight." Mikhail said simply. It was better if the team knew about their dispute, but not the content.

"When? Last night?" Engineer inquired. Mikhail nodded and tasted the sweet bread the tinker had made not too long ago. It was savory and rich with flavor, a great contrast to how the Russian was feeling on the inside. However, it made him feel a bit better. But only a little.

"What about, Fat Man?" the Bostonian bothered, poking the giant in the arm. Said male gave a warning look to the scout in relation to the name. The kid poked him again with a different question.

"Did you guys fight over the fact that you cant be the only one with an über charge?" he asked.

"Nyet, tiny child. More big problem." Mikhail answered a little impatiently. He couldn't be bothered with the never-ending barrage of comments and stories, but the names with him being fat were the only ones that he was conscious about. He even checked himself, and he was _fine_. He had more muscle than most if not all mercs on the team combined.

But back to the matter on hand…

"Like what?" the sniper piped in, sitting up from the armchair, hat still over his eyes.

"He say. Not I." Heavy dismissed.

"Oh come _on_ , it cant be _that_ bad!" Scout whined.

"Scout, leave it. If it's a problem between them, then you have no business to know the particulars." Engineer admonished, sitting at the table with his own plate of food. He faced Mikhail.

"Thanks for clearing it up a little. Doc came in like that and nearly took skipper's head off here after he wouldn't leave him alone about his attitude." Engineer explained, motioning with his fork towards the child mercenary. "I know you're a personal man, so _we-"_ this he stressed while giving the Scout a parental glare, "won't pry. I just hope this storm clears before official battle on Monday."

Battle. He hadn't even thought of that. If he and Medic didn't settle their differences, then what was to happen to the team? They had won every single skirmish because of their defense, because he and Medic were the dynamic duo. If they were no longer the team they should be, then what was the administrator do?

Oh shit. She could go after his family, _any of the mercs' relations,_ because they didn't fight to their full potential. His sisters and mother were defenseless. If the administrator could gather the most dangerous beings I the world, then could she easily send people across the mountains.

No, she doesn't know about them. Or does she? This uncertainty was tearing his mind apart, and he felt the need to know the truth.

Pauling.

Heavy stood, dismissing himself, and left for the phone that was by the entrance of the building. When he picked up the receiver, his hands shook and he had a hard time dialing the number. His nerves were shot, and his unease about the situation only showed in his face, though he tried to keep neutral.

"You don't have to call Madame Pauling for answers."

Mikhail jumped and whirled around. The spy was leaning against a wall, a cigarette in between his lips and playing with the lighter to try and ignite it. He lit his cigarette and took a deep breath, the man immediately relaxing a bit more.

"what mean?" the Russian demanded. Spy meandered to the tense male and put the phone back in it's place.

"I am a spy, Monsieur Heavy. It is my job to know and understand everyone I meet. Especially employers. You want to know all about the administrator and how much she knows, oui? Madame Pauling wouldn't give that information even if you threatened her with her life." Spy explained. Mikhail crossed his arms and gave the spy a suspicious glare.

"what you saying, Spy?" Mikhail asked.

"I am suggesting that you look to people a little closer to base." The Frenchman assured. "like, say, moi?

"you?" the heavy demanded incredulously.

"oui, moi." he said simply.

"what would spy know? How?"

"what the administrator doesn't know is that while she can trust Madame Pauling, she cannot trust a spy to not snoop. I know everything about everyone. Including your family of three sisters and single mother."

Mikhail's features darkened and his fists clenched. The spy backed up a little.

"Monsieur Heavy, I do not say these things to threaten you. I am just answering what you were probably going to ask Madame Pauling." The spy said quickly.

"Why? Why help me?" Mikhail narrowed his eyes, searching for any signs of lying.

"A spy never reveals his secrets. That is the first rule of deception." The spy said, shaking his head but a small knowing smile came to his features. Heavy relaxed, but still watched the slippery spook.

"but not everyone is meant to be a spy. Most need trust in order to survive." With that comment, before the heavy could pry for meaning to the cryptic message, Spy disappeared on the spot and his cigarette was dropped. Heavy pressed his boot heel to the butt and smudged it, looking wildly around for the spy, but knew it was a moot point.

 _Not everyone can be a spy._ That made perfect sense, and wasn't unreasonable. The spy did bring up a point. But what was the paradox of a man suggesting? Was he suggesting that he needed to trust more? Was he suggesting that he should proclaim his family and go ahead and invite the others over for dinner on Sundays?

This thought angered him, but knew he couldn't blame the man for his assumption. He needed to clear his head.

A whole day and night passed, and the other mercs hadn't see the large defense and medical support classes the whiole time. They knew medic was in his lab, but he was not to be disturbed for anything. When dinnertime came, Heavy showed up, but he seemed distressed and had a lot on his mind. All of them left him be, even the scout, who had more entertainment by bothering the Australian, something about kangaroo boxing. It was obvious medic and heavy still hadn't made up, but spy knew the Russian was just thinking things over. He did, after all, have a PhD in Russian Literature, a liberal art. Such a thing required one to use their knowledge to unlock secrets of the text. Heavy was the type to think things over in every possible way until he came up with an answer that was satisfactory. When running into a problem, his tactic never strayed away from the methods used on a text to find truth and understanding.

But what the Spy didn't know was that Mikhail exercised to clear his mind and focus on one argument at a time, using the whole time to steadily build his strength. A win, win. After a dinner made by spy, Heavy wandered to the exercise room. It had basic treadmills and bench presses, but other than that, it was no gym. It also had a boxing ring and various mats for sparing with a chalkboard on a wall. Essentially, it was a training room, but not the type that was weapon friendly. That was elsewhere in the base. There was a sticky note on one bench press. He looked and could see some very neat handwriting. The first time he saw the writing style the day prior, he was shocked by the owner of such a disciplined and practiced hand.

"This is mine –Soldier" was all it said. Mikhail blinked, but obliged, like he did the times before. Oddly enough, there was always a new note on the press. He knew this because every time he saw the note there was a different message on the yellow sticky slip. Once it said, "reserved for Pride of America," and another warned, "use, and you will meet George Washington with my shovel in your head."

Heavy claimed a different press and checked all of its functioning parts to make sure all was in order. After doing so, he placed 75 lbs on each side to start off, as per not to hurt himself. As he would continue, he would add more weight.

As he pressed, his thoughts wandered to his sisters. Were they well? Were they staying out of town unless going for supplies like he told them to? He hoped they were well and happy. And his mother…he really hoped she was taking it easy and was resting better.

To reveal them would be a disaster, wouldn't it? Wouldn't it threaten them beyond- wait…

The men who wanted to kill or imprison his family were in the Soviet Union. And the administrator already knew of their existence as well as Spy. Could that mean that he could potentially lighten the load? He could actually trust more? Now that he thought about it, his father only said to protect them, he never said to distrust everyone. After all, his parents had friends from all over the world. In order to maintain a friendship, one had to trust another, and mutual treatment was included on the other party. At this point, Medic gave more than Mikhail had, and that wasn't a friendship.

 _Most need to trust to survive._

What if… Heavy dropped the bench press onto the stand and shot up in realization.

What if _Medic_ needed to trust someone because he hasn't been able to in a long time, and was tired of running?

 _You're preaching to a choir, Heavy._

What had he meant by that? Who was chasing him exactly? And what was in those eyes with ultimate suffering? He was hurt, but how? It seems he has been hiding just as much if not more than Mikhail, and was willing to give. The Russian stood and knew he had to make amends. The man had honored him by trusting him with revealing his faith (Mikhail still didn't understand it, but the worth was obvious, and that's all that mattered), but he had practically spat on it and left to let his friend rot. Friends didn't do that.

But how could he face the man? What would ever compel the German to listen to him? How could he reach out to Medic when he fled at the sight of him like he was the Black Plague?

It doesn't matter. He had to try, and it wouldn't be an easy and painless ordeal. To never try was to never succeed, and Mikhail knew one thing was certain.

This fight had to end.

* * *

* Quite the contrary, actually. Jewish people were looked down upon even in the USA, the supposed perfect refugee country, and were unfairly denied various aspects that were available to other parts of the populous, even though many were refugees during and/or after WWII and the Holocaust.

* Between 1880-1928, it is estimated that a total of 2.2 million Jewish people left Czarist Russia/Soviet Union (second name mentioned is applied after 1922) to escape persecution. Around 77% of that number went to the USA, where conditions were better, but not the "Promised Land" as many thought it to be. They were deprived in employment in some careers, sometimes banned in social clubs and resorts, not allowed to buy certain properties, and only a certain number of Jewish students were allowed in university enrollment. Various hate groups, including the notorious KKK (Klu Klux Klan), rose against this immigration as a response, and a considerable rise of attack numbers were reported shortly after. It died down after WWII and the civil rights movement.

sneak peek...

Sorry, I think I'll let you guys dangle. -insert evil laugh here-


	5. Admitting the Truth

The light was still on in the lab. Mikhail could see it from under the double swinging doors. He felt his heart race, knowing that this could either go very well, or very badly. He had to tread carefully. He knocked twice on the door, calling out a small "Doktor?"

No response.

"Doktor, it's Heavy."

"I know, Herr Heavy. No one else calls me 'Doktor'." A German voice snapped from the other side, accompanied by a resounding click of a lock. Mikhail sighed and knew this wasn't going to be easy.

 _Life was never meant to be as easy as crossing a field, Misha._

"Doktor, I came to say I'm sorry."

No response.

"Doktor, can I please come in and speak with you?"

"Nein."

A pause.

"Doktor, please…" Mikhail pleaded.

"Nein, there is nothing to say." The German dismissed harshly across the barrier.

"Medic, I'm not leaving until you either let me in or you come out." He resolved.

"Then, you are going to wait all night." Medic dismissed twice. Mikhail sighed and nodded, even though he knew the medic couldn't see him. He turned his back to the door and sat down crossed legged on the cold tile floor. His hands clutched the letter tightly, glad that he had prepared for the possible outcome of the German not opening up. Silently, he slipped the folded paper under the doors and relaxed, letting his mind wander.

He waited.

* * *

 _Doctor,_

 _My title is Heavy Weapons Specialist._

 _But my name is Mikhail._

 _I act like I have difficulty with language._

 _But am fluent in English, Russian, German, and Italian._

 _I let people think I am stupid._

 _But I have a PhD in Russian Literature._

 _I let people think I just like to shoot Sasha._

 _But the only reason have this job so I can support and protect my family hiding in Russia._

 _I let people think I like being silent,_

 _But all I want to be is myself, no charades, no disguises._

 _I would if I didn't have anyone else's safety to think about._

 _I'm sorry to have caused you pain._

 _Mikhail._

* * *

The Russian fell asleep within two hours. He had come to terms that the doctor may not take his pleas or his explanation, and that he would rather let him go instead of hurting the man more. Because he was half asleep and too engrossed in his own thoughts, he didn't know the doctor had collapsed against the locked doors, slid down the green surface, slumping on the ground. His glasses were off and on the floor, which joined the tear stained, unfolded paper where he had dropped it.

The German had read it so many times he had memorized it, searching for hidden meanings under every word, sentence, and syllable.

His head was in his hands, guilty, sad tears leaking in between his fingers and running down his gloves. He admitted to himself silently at last that he never was angry with the Russian, but actually just heartbroken, his pride and stubborn nature holding his fake anger in place.

 _My title is Heavy Weapons Specialist…But my name is Mikhail…I'm sorry…_

"I'm sorry, too, mien liebe," he stuttered out.

* * *

*throws chapter* Take it! TAKE IT! DONT KILL ME, I KNOW IT'S SHORT!

no * this time. get tissues ready, readers, tears will come soon very soon, and backstories shall be revealed!

sneak peek on tumblr: post/125093805522/ch-6-sneak-peek-for-giving-more-in-the-trust-me


	6. Mending the Bond

Mikhail was jerked awake as a door bumped his back. He snorted and straightened in his seat, feeling his back and neck pop uncomfortably as he moved his arms slightly.

"Mikhail." A German voice spoke. The Russian's heart clenched as he realized it was the medic who said his name. He read it. He read the letter. He glanced up and around his shoulder, it audibly cracking. Medic had his arm half out of the door and his face peeking out of the crack. He didn't look mad. In fact, he seemed...well, he seemed nervous.

"Mein freund..." He called him friend! Mikhail beamed at his companion.

"Doktor." He greeted.

"Mikhail, erm..." He waved a finger outwards with a small sheepish grin. "I would like to leave my lab sometime, mein freund."

Mikhail's eyes widened and he glanced at his back, seeing the door still jarred into his spine. He scooted over a little until the door's path was free. The medic then stepped out of the lab for the first time in two days, looking around as if he were lost. He didn't face the Russian.

"Did you stay there all night?" He asked, still not facing Mikhail.

"Da, doktor. All night." He responded, cracking his back some more, the aches magnifying. He made a mental not to never sleep upright without support ever again. The German hummed in recognition and there was a small silence that ensued for a good conversation minutes before he took a seat next to Heavy.

Medic was in a white T-shirt with the red class emblem on his chest and black yoga pants, no socks or shoes. He brought his knees to his chest and relaxed against the heavy door behind him. Mikhail noticed the blood spots on his chin, most likely from shaving. He looked casually dressed and not at all like the doctor he knew. He looked younger and different. Mikhail wasn't sure what exactly it was, but he was different. It wasn't a bad different. Just...different.

"I'm sorry, mein freund." The German murmured, staring down at his feet. "I was...I did not think to consider you were not comfortable with telling me anything."

"Nyet, Doktor. You trusted me enough to tell me your faith, and I didn't bother to think how important it was." Mikhail insisted.

They were thrown back into silence as the awkwardness settled in, and the uncertainty to reach past the emptiness created a situation where neither couldn't find a way out. The solid silence echoed across the hall and rebounded between the two lost individuals. Eventually, the heavy broke it.

"What did you shave with, a scalpel?" He asked with a small grin. The medic slowly turned his head and stared at the Russian with a blank expression, before his face showed a guilty smile.

"Maybe." The medicinal man said. There was another bout of silence, but this one was far shorter and ended in tears.

Tears from laughing so hard that it hurt.

The medic leaned heavily on the doors behind him, wiping the salty water of joy from his eyes, removing his glasses for a second.

"Oh, mein Gott, I haven't laughed that hard in a while." He breathed out.

"Perhaps you should socialize more." The heavy suggested. The German scoffed.

"Name one sane individual who would speak to a mad scientist with a power compulsion in regard to becoming a god. You cannot." He shook his head. "No, it is _you_ who should socialize more. You hardly say a word." The German said.

"Only because I find it easier. Besides, you pick up on more if you remain silent and listen, rather than talking all the time like baby Scout."

The German chuckled.

"Ja, the child does speak a lot..." He agreed. Medic took out the letter and unfolded it, it looking like it had been handled a thousand times, and was wrinkled in more places than others.

"I'm sorry as well, Mikhail." He said quietly. "I admit...I wasn't mad. I was just..." It was obvious the German rarely apologized, and had a hard time finding the right words. Mikhail was patient and waited for the words to come.

"I am a prideful man. Because of that, I have a hard time accepting apologies, and in turn giving them myself." The German revealed slowly, looking up at his friend. "I was more...hurt than anything. I'm sorry I never considered that you had your own reasons for hiding."

Mikhail smiled and nudged the man playfully with his elbow.

"Forgive you if you forgive me?" He asked.

"Deal." Medic said, smiling and holding is hand out to shake. The Russian obliged, and noticed the doctor lingered with his hand.

"My name is Kaspar, by the way."

The duo cleaned up after the rough night, and a new sense of ease was placed between them. In fact, it was deeper than what Mikhail knew to have with anyone before. He now realized that their relationship prior to this was an acquaintance, not a friendship. They were comrades, then. But now it was a companionship that went beyond work and held more trust.

When they entered the rec room together, the engineer, who was teaching the scout how to make the perfect pancakes, greeted them warmly. It was Sunday, the last day before the real battles began. Scout was avidly talking about his mother pancakes, and threatening the Texan that they better be better than his ma's.

When the engineer saw the duo enter together, talking warmly to each other in mutual companionship, he smiled.

"I see you two made up." He said teasingly. Mikhail shrugged one shoulder and sat at the table. Medic snatched an apple and was about to take a bite when suddenly-

"DOC! NO, DONT DO IT! YOU HAVE SO MUCH TO LIVE FOR!" Scout screamed, making the engineer jump three feet and throw the spatula across the room, smacking the sniper dead in the face as he was coming inside from the morning heat. Mikhail flinched and stared at the stupidly scared scout, who was tense and reaching out to the medical man as if he were about to save him from a dire peril.

Medic just went rigid and his eye went to the boy, thoroughly confused.

The sniper picked up the spatula and entered the building.

"That was the strangest wake up call I've ever had." He muttered. Engineer recovered and gave a stern look to the scout.

"Boy, what are you on about?" He scolded. "You scared the living daylight a outta me!"

"But doc! He was about to cancel himself out!" The Bostonian exclaimed.

All was quiet. No one moved. No one even seemed to breathe. Suddenly, the Australian smacked the kid smartly over the head with the kitchen utensil, earning a very dirty word from said child.

"What was that for!?"

"That was fer _scaring_ the _shit_ out of _everyone_ and smacking _me_ in the _face_ with a _spatula_ at _8 in the morning_ , all for a _bloody cheesy joke!_ "

There was silence as the sniper tossed said offending object into the sink to wash and pointedly ignoring everyone, starting to make coffee.

"Dang stretch." Engineer muttered.

Mikhail got the joke and cracked a grin. It was halfway decent. The doctor, however seemed to believe it to be annoying, and took a bite out of the "dangerous fruit". He didn't cancel himself out. He didn't choke. He didn't disappear.

What he did do was finish the apple and threw a banana at the kid, telling him that "if you wish to joke about fruit, then this one suits you the best."

The engineer looked to be in deep thought about what he said before freezing mid-flip and his eyes slowly turning to the German. Mick paused in his ignoring and burst out laughing. Mikhail hid his blush by getting up and snatching something from the refrigerator. The doctor smirked like a Cheshire cat.

"I don't get it!" Scout said, peeling the fruit and taking a very _large_ bite out of it. He at first chewed normally, but then he slowed as his mind began to figure it out. He spit the potassium plant out and threw the rest of it away, blushing beet red.

"I AM NOT A FAGGOT!" He exploded at the German, storming out of the room. Medic hummed in sarcastic agreement.

"Doc, was that necessary?" Engineer asked, stacking the pancakes on a platter.

"If he wants to crack jokes with fruit, then two can play at the game." Medic shrugged.

"Yeah, but to question a boy's sexuality...you may have gone too far, doc." The Texan said gently. The German's grin vanished and a stern and cold look came over his features.

"If you recall, _he_ took it too far when he called me a Nazi." he growled. Before anyone could argue with him about the subject the Spy walked in looking very disheveled. Well, as disheveled as the spy could get. His suit jacket and tie were missing, but his button up shirt was still starched and neat. The only difference was that his sleeves were rolled up.

"Gee spy. Rough night?" Engineer spoke. The Frenchman glanced at the man before sitting on the couch with a sigh.

"Not exactly, toymaker." He murmured. He glanced over at the German and Russian.

"I see you two made amends." He said casually, lighting a cigarette. "Probably wisest. If you two were not a team, then how on earth would we hold a chance against the BLU?"

 _Don't act so detached, Spy. I know you care._ Mikhail thought to himself, a smile sneaking onto his featured. But he quickly set it aside and accepted the plate of pancakes.

This was the last day to relax. What to do? He supposed he could spend some time with the doctor. Talk. Really get to know each other.

His eyes wandered over to said doctor. Kaspar. That was a name he never heard. However, it suited him perfectly enough. It wasn't a Jewish name, but anyone can change his or her name. That was certain, and who's to say Jews only picked Jewish names?

The medic's stare went from his food to the Russian, the latter turning away quickly to make it seem like an accident that their eyes met.

The spy got up from the couch, muttering something about dessert for breakfast. He snatched a few hot cakes from the plate engineer was preparing and sat at the table, not paying attention to anyone.

It was odd to see the sniper and spy in the same room without killing each other. What was going on between them? Perhaps they finally had a mutual understanding.

"Tell me, bushman. I saw you early this morning in base. Have you finally decided to move into your assigned room like a civilized person?" Spy asked, smirking slightly. Ivan shook his head.

 _Never mind._

"Oi! My bed is more comfortable than those stupid spring traps they call mattresses!" He snapped. "And for your information, I was in base because my sink broke and I needed to shave!"

"Relax, stretch! Spy's just trying to get a rise out of you." Engineer said logically, throwing a small glare towards the suave man. Said male shrugged and tossed his plate into the sink, strolling away with a fancy step that made the sniper grit his teeth in annoyance.

Mikhail and the medic both took their leave shortly after, and the Mikhail's pondering on whether he could spend more time with the doctor was resolved. The man invited him to his domain so they could socialize while working. Or at least, while the _doctor_ worked. Sasha was clean already.

When they entered the medbay, the German motioned for him to sit anywhere while he filed reports and such. Mikhail did so and watched as Kaspar began writing at his desk.

"Tell me about your life before this?" He asked quietly.

Mikhail looked down at his shoes and forced himself to speak. It was hard, after being so closed off for so long...

"My family and I ran across Russia for so long...it became second nature to us. Of course, we tried to settle in a place where numbers would hide us, but the authorities found us anyway."

The German looked over at his fellow foreigner.

"Why are you chased? What happened?" He asked.

"My father was a counter revolutionary. He hated the soviet government. Said it's doomed to fail." Mikhail explained. "Father said that communism only works on paper, and that it sounds wonderful, but the leaders that are chosen are only men of greed, this making the system counter productive. He took measures to destroy the government in its infancy during the civil war, so he was charged as a criminal when the Reds took over." Mikhail picked up a pen and twirled it in his hand, feeling a weight begin to slide off his shoulders as he spoke.

As the conversation dragged on to the subject of his home in St. Petersburg, his college days, and his original career choice, it became easier to talk, and found that Kaspar was a good listener. He nodded when needed, made all the right noises at the right time, and didn't ask too many questions during a story or explanation. When they got to the point where he talked about quitting his hopes for being a writer, the German stopped writing and turned around in his chair.

"But you have a gift! A natural talent for linguistics! How could you give that up?" He exclaimed, standing an approaching his friend. "I know if I decided to give up experimental medicine...I'd never live with myself."

"Doktor, I had to protect my family." He insisted. "That matters more." The German sighed and nodded, seemingly accepting the answer. For the time being.

"Did you ever write anything?" He asked, curious.

"I had essays and tests-"

"I mean written anything _you_ wanted to write. Not what was required." Kaspar cut him off. The Russian shook his head.

"No. I didn't dare. It was too risky." Mikhail denied, folding his hands in thought.

"But why? How is writing so risky for your family? What was your reasoning?" The German pressed, pulling a chair up to face his friend more comfortably. Mikhail sighed, opened his mouth, closed it, and repeated this cycle again.

"I...I'm not ready to say." He said slowly. "I've kept it a secret for so long...it's hard to say."

It wasn't that Mikhail didn't trust the German. Far from it. It was just that he wasn't sure if he was ready to give something like that out in the open yet. Especially if there was a possibility of the German shunning him for it. No. Not yet. Not until he knew the German's character better.

Said German nodded slowly and looked down at his hands.

"I see...so why did you leave St. Petersburg?" He asked. Mikhail then proceeded to explain the man who wanted to arrest them and his strategy of remaining hidden. Kaspar hummed and sat back in his seat.

"You act as if you had been captured before..." He observed. Mikhail sighed, and nodded.

"Da...We were captured. And thrown into a gulag...a prison camp." He admitted. The German doctor froze at 'prison camp' and had his eyes pealed on his Russian companion.

"And you...escaped?"

"Da...we did. We were captured and forced to work in the cold with no food or water or rest for days and days and days...my father fell ill and died there. His body was given no ceremony, nor commemoration. Instead, he joined the pile and was dumped into a mass grave. If that wasn't enough, my sisters and mother were now defenseless to the soldiers and their urges..." He trailed of, remembering their screams and cries of desperation to not be touched and molested, which were never answered.

"I tried...to protect them...but I was so young and naive..."

"It's not your fault. Do they hold that against you?" The German asked, attempting to reason with Mikhail.

"Nyet...but they didn't forget. How could they? I made a decision and vow to my father that I would protect them as the head of the family, and it took me two months for me to finally do it." He paused before continuing at Kaspar's encouragement.

"The soldiers had a weakness as most men do, and that was drinking. Every Sunday, they would congregate in the tavern in the gulag with the officers and drink each other under the table. I had made friends around the camp and we came up with a plan to escape. And not just ourselves, but everyone. When they were at the tavern, that meant there was less guards around. Thus, we killed the easy pickings scattered around before storming the tavern.

"They were so drunk that day they didn't know what was a pistol and what was a bottle. It was almost it too easy to imprison _them_. Of course, when they sobered up, it was mayhem. We tortured them to death. Some people might speculate that we were cruel to them...that they are only doing their jobs...I have yet to recall rape as a part of their job. After that, we fled to St Petersburg, where the vast numbers and crowds would cover our tracks."

"And then you were discovered and moved once more..." Kaspar finished, connecting the dots.

"Da." Ivan breathed out, feeling the weight and pain of his past finally leaving him. Perhaps all he had to do was talk about it with someone. It was amazing what conversation did. However? What shocked him was how...logical his doctor was being. He held no sympathy, but actually a greater emotion that was far more powerful and heartfelt.

Understanding.

Kaspar took his friend's hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

"Dankeschön, mein freund. I know this must have been hard for you to explain...but it is the past, ja? We just...carry on with our lives and try to make it normal again. We dwell on the past too much and we are lost to it." He said gently, pensively.

"Da...that is true." Mikhail nodded, agreeing with the medical man. Kaspar got up and moved back to his desk to continue working.

Yes, understanding was better. But all the same...how did the doctor achieve such a mutual experience as to feel such an emotion?

"Doktor...you said to me that you were Jewish..." The Russian started, growing nervous of his friend's reaction. The German stopped and put his pen down and turned in his chair.

"Ja, I did." He said stoically, his face blank, non-judging.

"I...I don't exactly understand why that is so important." Mikhail admitted. The German cocked an eyebrow.

"As you know, my family was running during the whole war. In 1944 we were detained and father died. By that time, the Red Army was winning. Don't know about the German invaders. I never learned about them in school. They expected us to know." The Russian explained. Medic sighed and ran a hand through his ebony locks and suddenly seemed tired.

"It's hard to...I cannot believe..." He seemed at a loss for words. His eyes returned to his companion and showed an emotion that Mikhail could identify in every single prisoner in the gulag. A sense of death. Not in the body, but in the soul.

"Why would such a thing matter? That your Jewish? Why would it matter? It's just a faith. Why judge on faith when personality is what people should be judged on?" Mikhail asked.

The silence was heavy and the elder male scoffed in empty amusement.

"How can you be so innocent? If only people thought as you do, mein freund." The sadness and the deep yearning for it to be true stopped any words that would've passed through Mikhail's lips. The German was silent, as if he was considering something.

"Do you mind lending your ear to an old man?" He asked.

"I'll lend it to my German doktor. You are not old." Mikhail insisted.

"Perhaps not in body, but in spirit. I am not the same man I was in '39. And I fear he will never return." The German motioned for the Russian to sit. He did so and watched him as he got comfortable, sorting his papers and placing them away.

"No point in continuing when such a sensitive subject is at hand." He murmured. "I was still a student in '39. I was hiding my faith because it was illegal to go to school then. I had my mother, my father, my two younger brothers, and the baby. We all were reform Jews. What that means is that we don't follow all of the orthodox traditions and more or less change with the times to adapt to the era in which we live. However, we were Jews, and that's all that mattered to the Nazis.

"Jews over time under the Nazi rule were deprived of citizenship and other privileges. Pregnant Jewish women were even forced to have abortions so the gene wouldn't pass on."

"It was considered as a gene?" This confused Mikhail. It was just a religion, right?

"Propaganda. There are some traits that are common among my people, but nothing to make a solid case that it's genetic. They more or less used stereotypes as a means to identify us. They called it...called it 'racial hygiene.' If you were Jewish, you were dirty and unclean. This is beyond just a group of anti-Semites. It was a whole government system that broke the pillars of humanity to create a generation of obedient subjects without ever questioning orders."

"But why?" Mikhail asked, every word tearing at his insides and making him sick. The abhorrent nature of such a prospect was beyond shock or anger. It only left Mikhail with a sense of confusion.

"Many survivors have spent the remainder of their free lives wondering the same thing. We were told why, but it isn't enough. It never will be enough."

Survivors?

"What did they tell you?"

"They said we deserved nothing more than death because we killed Christ. But...they also wanted a reason to gain power in such a depression after The Great War. What better way to gain power than to find someone to blame for your troubles? My people have always been persecuted throughout time, why not just do it again?"

Mikhail stared down at his shoes and tried to think of all things that could explain it. It was so...simple. But it makes no sense. But it's so WRONG.

"You said...survivors. What did you mean by that?" The Russian asked slowly. Medic sighed and closed his eyes, hiding from the world.

"I was a student illegally in Germany. I was told by my professor to flee the country, go to Sweden before it was too late. I was a fool and said, 'they've taken everything. What more can they do?'" He scoffed and laughed drily.

"For what then did my family die for?" He said. Mikhail's stomach dropped and his mouth was agape. The doctor gazed at his friend.

"Two weeks later, an officer came and notified my family that we were to be deported. What for? My whole family was born and raised in Germany. In our hometown of Stuttgart, no less. There was no 'why?' Only 'do.' We decided to let the officers have their way, because they will see their mistake and leave us be.

"Instead, they came on schedule to take us and eighty other families to the train station." The doctor grew silent, and wordlessly left the room. Mikhail was stunned. He had no idea this was what was going on. What really happened was more cruel than the soviet government. Did his father know? If he had, Mikhail was sure he would've fought, soviet cause or not.

The German returned, lighting a cigarette as he entered.

"I haven't smoked in nearly 21 years." He murmured. "But I need this. Just the one." He promised, going into another back room and dragging a body out of it. It was a headless spy from the BLU team. Mikhail was about to ask more, but after seeing his expression, the inquiry died on his lips. The German threw the spy onto the operating table and got out his surgical tools.

"Instead of taking us to passenger cars, there were cattle cars. We were confused. However, they took our luggage, promised to return it once we arrived, and forced us into the cars. There were about a hundred of us in each car, with no bathroom and no water or food. It was so cramped, you couldn't breath, and you touched everyone around you. You wouldn't sit down. You had to stand. I was lucky and kept my brothers close. I had my family." Kaspar began, taking his scalpel and making the first incision into the cold dead flesh. Blood leaked out slowly from the body, the liquid no longer red but a burgundy color.

"How long was the trip?" Mikhail asked.

The doctor paused in his work.

"I don't know if I should say thankfully or unfortunately, but it was only two days. We thought the worst was over and when we arrived, we were confused. All we saw were forests and hills. They made us get out, and we were turned in to the Gestapo."

"The what?" Mikhail questioned. He had never heard of this. These new things were all strange and threatening.

"It was the secret police that was above the law and oversaw the entire solution for the Jewish race in Europe." Kaspar took a deep drag from his cigarette and breathed out the toxic cloud, giving the air an eerie and ominous aura that foreshadowed what was to come. He split the chest and stomach area away from the cuts he made and stared down at the exposed organs.

"Now, I was always a clumsy person at that age. Naturally, when they forced all the men to get out of the cattle cars, I hurt myself. I snapped my fibula from falling out of the doorway and hitting the spare iron rails the train rode on. A rail worker must have left them there. One Gestapo officer dragged me across two hills and to a clearing. With my bad leg. My father normally would've jumped to my aid and perhaps would've killed the man. But he stood there and did nothing. No one did anything. These people, who were my neighbors, my lifelong friends, suddenly looked the other direction."

Mikhail grew angry and was about to interject, but the German continued, digging his hands into the cold cadaver's intestines.

"He left me there and the rest of the men were led there eventually. They were given shovels and told to dig a hole. They did so without question and without comment. Only silence. The Gestapo wanted a pit, ten feet by six feet. Eight feet deep. With around ninety men in the group digging, it was finished very quickly. Around an hour. The dirt was easy for shoveling."

The German spoke in a quiet voice, the volume no more than needed to be heard and understood. His tone was an attempt to remain detached, but the raw emotion haunted his words with every syllable uttered. Although his hands were working, his eyes were not focused upon what he was doing.

"The men were told to strip, throw their clothes into a pile and line up on the edge of the pit. Again, not a word. No argument. No questions. I suppose a few machine guns would do the trick for any objection that might have been said. The Gestapo said they were going to sanitize us. But here I was on the sidelines, with a broken leg. And there was no water to bathe, no equipment. Only rifles and machine guns." He continued, pulling out the heart and inspecting it.

Mikhail placed a hand to his mouth in dread, fearing the worst. They wouldn't. No man could ever be so cruel as to just shoot innocent people.

"They opened fire and killed every one of them. They had done this before with practice. They knew to place them on the edge of the put so their bodies would fall in. They knew to make them face the pit, away from the guns. They knew to aim at the upper back, where the lungs and heart are. And they knew to strip them so they could loot the bodies. You don't do that on a whim. It was practiced, planned." As he spoke, he turned the larger organ around in his hands and cut it open with an expert hand and dexterous movements.

Mikhail stood and paced in the room, his mind at unease and running in circles. He couldn't imagine the hell that those people went through. His sob story was nothing to this German medical man. Absolutely nothing. He was ashamed of even telling his friend about his own tale of woe, and expected him to pity him. Instead he gave him understanding. Why? Because he had the winning lottery number for pain and suffering.

"I feel worse for the women and children." Medic said, taking another breath from his white death stick while the cardio organ leaked juices all down his gloved hand.

"They came naked as well. I was still alive and was too weak from fear and shock of it all that I didn't even think to yell out and warn them. They saw what was there, and the bullet wounds. Their husbands, brothers, and sons...dead. There was no time to react. They too were shot and fell into the hole. The older children were in that line...but the babies." At this, the German paused in honest pain and sadness, putting the heart down in the cavity. Mikhail faced Medic, almost wanting to tell his friend no more. He couldn't take any more.

"They threw them into the air and used them as targets for the machine guns. This cycle lasted for two hours. I watched my mother, father and brothers killed by rifles, and the baby was target practice for a machine gun crew." He sighed and leaned over the corpse and stared down at the shredded heart.

"They did all of this without remorse or feeling. Except when they were in 'target practice'. They laughed and joked about it as if it were a game."

Mikhail felt tears coming to his eyes. This abomination...this horror was beyond...he had no words to describe his sorrow and appalled emotions.

"Doktor...how did you survive?" He breathed out, his voice cracking under the pressure.

"A miracle. The same reason why they had to drag me there. They left me to die. But I dragged myself back to the tracks and a rail hand found me." The German said stoically.

"Why did they drag you there, if they were not to kill you?" Mikhail asked.

"If I watched my family die in a tragic way, and I too was injured and nearly defenseless, it's more likely I would give up on living, that an animal might get to me or I starve. They didn't consider that the witnessing of my family's homicide was the very reason for my tenacity to live. To take revenge and make sure my survival was not in vain.

"I had to go into hiding." He continued on. "I was in a cellar to a destroyed convent for nearly two years with 30 other Jews of varying age and gender before being caught."

He gazed out the window of the lab.

"Every year, the day passes when my family was killed, and it hurts so badly I cannot breathe. But to anyone else, it's just another day of work. And no matter how much my people cry for the truth to be revealed, no one believes. They claim that something so horrible is made up. A dream. Just a hallucination caused by madness." He sighed.

"Even when the truth is right before their eyes on the camps and pits of mass graves."

"Camps? Like the one in Poland?" The Russian asked slowly, remembering what his professor told him.

 _It was a large camp, a result of the German invader's hatred_.

"Ja. _That_ one was called Auschwitz." The medic said, his eyes darkening. "That was the largest camp they had. It's purpose was not internment as you would think. No, it was death camp. They had an assembly line of steps before they killed you or put the ably fit to work. I was chosen to work."

Mikhail was almost afraid to ask. Almost.

"What...work did they offer?"

"The women who were granted life were given the task of sorting though the dead people's clothes, and other such tasks. The men were given backbreaking work or, if you were more frail, but, still able to work, you would be sent to work in a factory type of setting. I was not so lucky."

"You had hard work?" Mikhail asked.

The medic came to the end of his cigarette and looked at it disappointingly before snuffing it out into the dead spy's trachea opening in the neck. He glanced around as if he was looking at his medbay for the first time, but there was nostalgia in his eyes. The Teuton looked tired and sad. No, sad didn't cover his emotions. It was too generalized. It was pure _agony_. He was suffering. But what extent, Mikhail could only guess.

"Mein freund, there are just some things that are so immoral and so beyond what I understand that I even have a hard time revealing what they forced me to do." He said, his eyes shining. Medic sighed and put down his scalpel, taking off his glasses.

"They forced me to put the bodies of my people into the ovens, where they would burn them to ash to save space in the mass graves. Sometimes they were still alive. What did it matter? A good Jew was a dead one, as the saying went. They threatened us and said that if we didn't do our work properly, we ourselves would be thrown into the flames."

Mikhail placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and the medic looked at him with cold eyes of depression, the iron fist tightening around his heart in a stifling emotionless grip.

"The bodies were from the gas chambers. They would cram innocent men, women, children, and elderly onto them and gas them to death. And not just Jews. Poles, homosexuals, POWs, gypsies, handicapped...Russians." At this, Mikhail realized this was why his people were outraged by the German invaders. Or at least, one of the reasons. He felt salty water break loose from his eyes.

"I heard a rumor that there were glass windows so the Nazis could watch them as they suffocated to death, as if their screams were not enough to-"

"No more." Mikhail turned away, the tears staining his face. "I cannot hear any more." The Russian exclaimed.

The silence was deafening, and the German doctor walked around the operating table, gently turning the Russian to face him again. He replaced his glasses to see him better and to gauge the emotions in his friend.

"Do you believe me?" He demanded. Mikhail gave a bitter smile, despite the obvious pain in his chest and the dizzying nausea the threatened to resort to physical sickness.

"It is because I believe you, I am so hurt by this. How could anyone not have known? How could _I_..." A pause.

"Why do you not cry when you tell me of this?" Mikhail asked, placing his large calloused hands over the German's shoulders, begging for some physical sign of the medic's agony besides just an emotion written in his eyes. It wasn't normal. It wasn't natural. Said male returned the bitter smile and shook his head.

"If you cried...you'd die. They saw weakness and you were shot. Emotion was a weakness." Medic took Mikhail's hands gently with his gloved ones. "And in my case...I just don't have enough tears to spare for that."

"If not that, then what?" Mikhail demanded. The medic seemed to regain some of his warmth and the fist of depression lifted as the German gave a more wistful and genuine grin.

"Realizing you love someone."

* * *

Ok, I said there would be back-stories involved, but no, this is not over yet. This one I must have rewritten over six times and cried maybe four. I wanted it to be happy with it. Things get less serious in the next chapter, so no worries.

I didn't put * after anything because there is so much and I honestly don't feel like expanding more on the subject. It's hard to write that sort of thing and do it justice. But, since I wish to keep this accurate as possible, I'd like to say that all my sources are either books, speeches, or from the Holocaust museum in Washington DC. I also had a neighbor who survived Auschwitz, and I had the privilege to interview him before he passed away last year on the 3rd of July. I also interviewed a friend of the family who was in the USA army and liberated two camps during his military campaign in WWII.

This chapter is dedicated to David, whom opened my eyes to the truth and taught me humility. I miss you and your Passover and Hanukkah parties that brought me thousands of memories in tears of laughter.

sneak peek of ch 7 on my tumblr- post/128208734397/ch-7-sneak-peek-of-giving-more-of-the-trust-me


	7. Questions

Night fell soon enough and their talk went from serious, to conversational, to outright hilarity. The medic shared his most gruesome test subject stories with such giddiness and humor that Mikhail couldn't help but share his sense of humor. Oddly, it was endearing how the man seemed fascinated more with organs and birds than people. It even seemed that he talked to his doves and understood them. Mikhail wasn't to judge. The man had been alone for years, why not talk to them and treat them like your family?

Mikhail parted ways with him on good terms and the German requested that they continue their efforts from training into battle.

"This would be the ultimate test of my creation!" He giggled, looking like a child on Christmas Eve.

Mikhail could only nod and enjoy the fact his friend was so exited. He was nothing but nervous. This was the real battle, and he wasn't sure how the team would play the game. After all, each class had their own strategies and tactics, so who was to say the other team was different in that aspect.

Perhaps he should just sleep his worries away, the doctor suggested. No need to worry. It'll come when it comes.

Mikhail should've supposed battle would be immensely different than the trials and or training. That however remained to be an obvious thing if one actually pondered such a thing over the long weekend more than just the night before. Heavy, was not one of those people. Instead, he spent the weekend facing the fears, misconceptions, and the past that he held back for so long. Not to say that it was a detriment. Far from it. In fact, he gained a close friend as a result. However, he did think he should've at least given some thought to the battle for more than just a few minutes before going out blindly. So far, this other team proved to be a match for them, and Mikhail wasn't sure if it was their talent, or the fact his counterpart looked _almost identical to himself_.

It could be jitters and he was just hallucinating. Maybe. But unlikely, since everyone else had the same reaction. Even the other team had the same look on their faces.

Shock. Horror. Confusion. However it was quickly disposed of when the first kill was complete. No one knew who shot first. It was probably like the Boston Massacre* in that regard. No doubt it would be skewed on either side who shot whom. But if didn't matter. All that did was that they wouldn't die if they were killed, and that they were being paid handsomely. That meant a great deal.

But because Mikhail didn't let the issue go in his mind too much prior to the match, he was distracted and had to visit reapawn with the same frequency as he did on the earliest day of fighting in Teufort. In fact, he visited it more.

He leaned heavily against the wall, trying desperately to overcome the nausea and be ready to go out into the warzone. However, this was proving to be difficult. He wasn't so sure if he wanted to go out again.

The engineer respawned in front of him and stumbled a little.

"Dagit nagit, nabit dagit!" He swore, rubbing his back slightly. Right over where his spine was.

"Spy sapped my sentry! Then he back stabbed me!"

"Spy? Which?" Mikhail asked.

"BLU! Who else, partner?" The engineer stared as if the large Russian was insane.

"What, you think our spy would turn sides or attack a fellow teammate?" He asked in disbelief.

"Nyet. I make sure. English." Mikhail responded. The science man stared in thought before nodding.

"Alrighty then. I can get you some English books to help you out if y'all need it." He said.

"Thank you. But no. I learn by hear." Mikhail responded, his head beginning to clear from the nausea.

They won the match that day, thankfully. But not by much. It was an ordeal for everyone, and the finger pointing from training didn't cease. If anything, it only increased in ferocity. Mikhail watched the doctor retreat to his realm once the volume in the reapawn room became too highly to be called snide remarks. Mikhail debated for all but two seconds before following the German out, not particularly wanting to be a part of the conversation of such crude blows as verbal abuse.

The doctor was going though his paperwork when Mikhail entered the lab and Kaspar didn't acknowledge him at first. After a soft calling of his name, the German finally recognized that he had an audience.

"Not exactly what we call a picturesque victory, ja?" He asked, taking a file and sliding it into one of his many drawers.

"Nyet, but we still won. That counts for something, da?" He said.

"Perhaps. But that all depends on the perspective. I for one call this a learning experience."

"It is a victory, doktor." Mikhail disagreed.

"Then why does it feel like a loss, hm?" The German asked. "You see, instead of feeling like I have resolved things with the ubercharge, I am met with only more questions."

Mikhail's mind flashed to the other team and how alike they looked to themselves. These supposed doppelgängers were…well, for lack of better word, unnerving.

"Is it the other team?" He asked. Kaspar shook his head, taking out another file.

"Well, actually only partially. More or less, it is our own soldier."

This was unexpected and particularly random to Heavy, so he sat down and looked at his companion for more answers. When Kaspar was met with silence, he looked to his friend and saw his confusion.

"Oh…ja, that's right. You were in reapawn. I tried to ubercharge the soldier, but nothing happened. Nothing but overhealing. I don't understand!" He explained, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Is the mechanism faulty? Was there problems with the medigun? What is it?"

Mikhail sighed and shook his head.

"Not sure, doktor. I am not a medical expert. You are." The Russian said. Kaspar laughed humorlessly and glanced at his friend.

"Surely you cannot believe after I so carelessly ripped open your chest, destroyed your heart and replaced it with an animal's that I still uphold the title." He said. Mikhail shrugged.

"You know more than I. I never went to school or learned medical practice. My arts were more…" This time Mikhail failed to find the word. He growled as he wracked his brain and sifted through his conscience for the English dictionary. Instead, he only hit Russian and neared giving up when the German interrupted him.

"Having trouble?" He asked. His tone was light and understanding. He too grew up with another language other than English, so no doubt he had the same problem from time to time.

"Da, it's not…the word isn't coming. English is just…there are so many words that mean the same thing. In Russian, there aren't as many exceptions to the rules and there aren't many words that are the same. For English, sad isn't just sad. It's, depressed, melancholy, desolate, crestfallen, forlorn, and a hundred others! While each language is as beautiful as the last, it is hard to have so many words stored in your mind, and to get your point across…"

They were silent for a moment before the German broke it with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

"Perhaps that is why I leave the liberal arts to you." He said.

Mikhail's eyes widened as his mind had an audible click of a lightbulb.

"Liberal! That's the word!"

"Ja, I know." The German said with a small smile, waving his hand at his friend.

"Why didn't you say earlier?" Mikhail asked, crossing his arms in a slight pout.

"Because." The German said flippantly. "I am a firm believer in one working their problems out. If I just tell it to you straight, one cannot learn. Besides…your rambling about what the written word is in essence was wunderbar. It's exactly how I feel about English. Though instead of marveling at it, I'm more inclined to be frustrated by it." He said. Kaspar returned to his desk and sifted through the soldier's file to see if he had any medical conditions that the other team members may not have, and may contribute to the lack of charge.

It was then that he started to search through with jerky motions and his movements became frantic and uneasy.

"They're not here." He said.

"What? What do you mean?" Mikhail asked, standing up and walking to his companion's side. Kaspar glanced at Mikhail before waving a hand at the papers.

"The ubercharge notes! They aren't here!" He exclaimed. "I always take notes after I do a procedure and I always send in a report afterwards!"

"Perhaps they were misplaced?" Mikhail offered to his frazzled friend. "We all misplace things from time to time."

"Nein!" He insisted. "I have never misplaced a file in all my years of practice!" He moved to his side table and three papers around to search for his previous notes.

"They _cannot_ go missing! If someone stole them, they can be used! I never even thought to code my work!" He was outrightly panicking now. Mikhail placed a hand on the German's shoulder to steady him and held him in place, feeling him tremble in apprehension.

"Doktor, panicking will only make it worse. Perhaps you have been working too much. Battle was hard on all of us." The German moved away and collapsed into his swivel chair and leaned against the desk in deep thought. He began muttering to himself, even moving his hands in motions as if to retrace his steps in his mind. Mikhail watched, but remained in a state of decorum to let Kaspar's thoughts flow and eventually reach the answer.

After ten minutes of stewing at his desk and another twenty of wandering around his lab in a trail of seemingly random paths that only made sense to the German, his face lit up in realization that was a mixture of relief, shock, and even slight anger.

"I didn't do it." He murmured. Mikhail turned his head to the side in slight confusion.

"What?"

"The surgery. I didn't do it with soldier. I never operated on him." He said, his voice more clear. He quickly cleared his operating table and got out his surgical tools. Mikhail looked over at the door before glancing back at his friend.

"Are you sure, doktor?" He asked.

"Ja, I am positive. Think back, do you recall soldier having a tale of how I lost my license? I also was wondering why I had an extra charge when I specifically recall making exactly eight, including yours!" He said, growing excited.

"The sneaky Schweinehund must have slipped away in the incident no doubt."

Mikhail's mind flipped back to the scouts proclamation of the German being a Nazi and immediately connected the dots. He now realized that he hadn't seen high or low of soldier for the rest of the day. He also looked very afraid of the Doctor upon meeting him formally, and the violent reaction that Kaspar showed only heightened that fear.

"Do you need help in collecting him?" Mikhail asked.

"Perhaps." Kaspar responded, his attention of the ubercharge device, searching for any technicalities so they could avoid any problems. "More or less, he will take some coaxing and I doubt mere words or sense will convince the man to come to the lab willingly."

The medical man put the charge down with his tools and shrugged on his still bloody and dirty uniform, walking out with the heavy in tow to search for the supposed wannabe soldier.

He wasn't hard to find, as his tell tale yelling was heard all across the red base. Mikhail doubted the other team but 600 feet away in their own respective base couldn't hear him. Or perhaps they were dealing with their own soldier.

As it turned out, the American's object of yelling was a toaster. Was the offending object burning his toast? Barely singeing the surface? Not working at all?

" _YOU MAY HAVE FOOLED EVERYONE ELSE IN THIS BASE, BUT I KNOW YOU ROBOTS WILL ONE DAY MURDER US ALL AMERICANS IN OUR SLEEP!_ "

 _Dear god, I should've known,_ was all Mikhail could think at that moment.

Before the soldier could utter another ear splitting yell at the "threat to all mankind" that was the toaster, the German cleared his throat and successfully caught the soldier's attention. He looked up and saw the European company and froze at the sight of the clinical male, looking very much like a child guilty of not cleaning his room.

"Soldier, I have been thinking over what happened in battle, and it has come upon my attention that you have failed to partake in the ubercharge surgery."

The American stood up straight and balled his fists by his sides and his mouth turned into a straight line.

"Medic, the sprit of America and George Washington will protect me! Not your so called charge!" He stated, though his volume was still halfway to a shout.

At this moment, the scout entered with the sniper from outside, the former chatting away about how he bashed a pyro's skull in, the latter silent as ever and carrying a chipped mug that was presumably to be refilled with coffee.

"Mein freund, surely you see the advantages of having the charge alongside the spirit of America." The German tried to reason to the extent that the soldier would understand. However, the American would not be budged, even after several attempts were made. Just at the point when Kaspar was about to command Mikhail to interfere, the brash Bostonian stepped to the rescue.

"Hey captain! Doc here wants to show off his patriotism by giving you his American flag collection!" Scout called from the kitchen.

Soldier suddenly was all too eager to get to the lab and picked up the German. He zoomed out of the room and down the hall, Medic exclaiming how undignified the position he was in was in both English and German.

"You're welcome!" Scout said, sitting on the counter.

"Doktor not have flag collection." Mikhail said, changing into his broken English dialect.

"Just draw one on a couple of sheets of paper. Doesn't even need to be perfect." Scout responded, brushing the argument aside as if it were hardly a problem at all. Mikhail was about to argue, but then rethought on the Americans character. He left and waited outside the lab for the procedure to be over. Half an hour later, the soldier burst though the doors, running out of the lab as fast as his legs could carry him, not stopping to confide in the Russian on what the German had told him. The latter walked out calmly from his domain and looked to his friend in slight amusement as well as neutrality.

"Curious." He said simply.

"What?" Mikhail asked.

"He actually _was_ in the war…"

Mikhail glanced in wonder down the hall that Soldier disappeared through in haste.

"He told you that? What makes you so sure?" The heavy asked. Kaspar glanced at him with a look that said "because I know."

"Doctor-patient confidentiality." He said.

"Doktor is not a doktor." Mikhail pointed out. Kaspar scoffed.

"Trifles, I assure you." He said flippantly, retreating back into the lab. Mikhail chuckled, but got the hint. He wasn't about to budge and it was better not to push the issue. Though it _did_ leave many questions to be answered. With that thought in mind, the Russian joined him in the lab.

* * *

Dirt and grime were things that became a part of Mikhail's skin. He was sure that no matter how much he would scrub in the shower, he will never rid himself of the dirt, gunpowder, ash, and ground up building materials that stuck to his skin like glue. Hardly a thing to be thinking about when you are in the midst of battle with eight other men counting on you.

Mikhail looked back to his friend from behind the building wall.

"Two sentries." He notified after a glance to the area ahead. The German paused for a mere second in calculation.

"What levels?"

"Two and three. Have charge?" Mikhail asked in broken English, keeping in his character he created in case anyone overheard.

"Nein. Not yet. We may have to go around." Kaspar responded, peering down the side road.

"Sniper to east. West is main battle. Spy be anywhere. South is home base." He reasoned, repositioning Sasha. The medical man sighed.

"We won't have much better luck here with the sentries and no charge. By the time you have damaged them, it's unlikely you will be still alive, whether or not you are overhealed. One has rockets, and the other is a machine gun."

"Da…wish had soldier grenades" he murmured. Kaspar suddenly jerked his head up and looked at Mikhail.

"What did you say?" He asked, sounding like he was getting an idea.

"Wish had soldier grenades…" Mikhail responded, staring at his companion as the German's face displayed the inner working of his mind.

"Mein freund…you are a genius!" He exclaimed, turning off the healing ray from Mikhail and running off.

"Doktor!" The Russian exclaimed in male in question took off in the direction of the main battle across the bridge. Not planning on waiting for him, he followed, though quickly lagging behind due to his greater weight and the heavy weapon in his arms. That German could run fast…

Said male retreated towards the main battle and before Mikhail could stop him, right into another nest of enemy sentries.

Mikhail suddenly heard screams that were too feminine to be anyone on base, and felt the blowing ice and snow crawl up his grime and sweat covered body. He was back in the gulag, watching his people suffer while the soldiers beat them and order them to "keep working!" Or "work faster!"

No. He was in Teufort. He was in New Mexico. He was in America. This was war. He was fighting to keep his vow of keeping his sisters and mother safe. No one would die if he had anything to say about it. That was the second vow he made.

And his friend was about to die by a level three sentry.

Time slowed to a crawl, and the sounds died away from the the subconscious. Mikhail's grip on Sasha slipped and his fingers let go of his weapon that he held as dear as he did the memory of his father. With the weapon no longer slowing him down, he was able to leap out ahead in a sprint and grab the back collar of Kaspar's lab coat, yanking him back out of the path of rockets and into the safety of the building alcove. In return, his own body kept going forward, the inertia keeping him from protecting his own self as the rockets made contact with his body.

Mikhail respawned and almost tripped over himself from the nausea As the earth moved back in regular time and volume. It remains obvious that the program was in essence a miracle, but it still wasn't a pleasant experience. He wiped the sweat off his neck and sighed, attempting to collect himself when his partner in crime appeared next to him.

The medic was breathing hard and nearly fell over when Mikhail steadied him. However, instead of accepting his help, his blue eyes narrowed and the German smacked Mikhail's hand away.

This was an odd thank you for Mikhail sacrificing his life so the medic could live.

"Doktor, what-"

"Why?" The German asked, glaring up at him.

"Что?"

"Why did you do that?" The man repeated.

"I…"

 _I didn't want to see you die_.

 _I forgot respawn would save you._

 _I'd hate to see you blown to pieces._

 _I more than likely garner more feelings that are not appropriate to just being friends._

"The team needs you more than they need me." He said. Mikhail felt this was the wrong thing to say as the medic turned away, crossing his arms with an expression that seemed…pensive, no doubt. But it was almost wishing and disappointed? Before he could pry any further, the scout respawned and his loud voice broke them out of their moment. Without a word, the doctor picked up his bone saw and ran into the fray, seemingly having no interest in healing anyone for a while. Mikhail followed, a worried look on his face.

* * *

*The Boston Massacre was an event in pre revolution history of the USA that has been skewed by propaganda and blown out of proportion. Truthfully, only two people were killed, and the details have been lost ever since the retelling began. One key part of the event to be noted is the no one knew who shot first, but there are many claims and lots of finger pointing.

Sneak peek found here and this time it was drawn by the awesomely talented and wonderful Erikonil, go follow her, she is sweet and amazing! post/132585035937/erikonil-a-pic-for-the-lovely


	8. Reflecting Ridiculous Relationships

**( underline  is when someone misspells a word and crosses it out. AO3 has a function for that while Fanfiction does not which is a shame. I didn't check to see if Fanfiction had that option, so this is on me, and I apologize of any inconvenience. But we will have to make do here. If you wish to read this chapter with the lines _through_ the word, my name on AO3 is Hazel_Inle)**

* * *

 _Hot and heavy breaths mixed between the two passionate people that lounged in the bed, the larger over the smaller. The individuals cared not for the time nor place of which they shared their moment of pure connection and unity. All that mattered was that they were in each other's arms, gliding against one another in a fast but graceful dance of pure golden ecstasy._

 _The smaller of the two of German origin gave out a cry of sheer bliss with the other man's name dancing on his lips. The Russian kept his pace and fervor, worshiping every inch the other as a god. the caressing hands, the blushing that adorned their faces, the subtle sounds of making love; it all tied into perfection._

 _"Misha…Ich liebe dich~…"_

Mikhail's eyes shot open as the visions melted away and the hot sensations of another ghostly being were wiped from the windows to his soul. He sighed and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, feeling a layer of salty water drench his body as he moved and the familiar itchiness in his groin. Added onto this, was the tell tale sign of thicker liquid that coated some parts of his inner thighs and no doubt stained his sheets in his hip region.

"Stupid dream…" He muttered in frustration as he threw the blankets off himself and got up, cold air sweeping to meet his heat soaked body and made him shiver. He grabbed a spare towel from his quaint cabinet and patted down his body to rid the odor of perspiration, and wished he had a private bathroom to himself so he could clean up quicker. Not wanting to sleep in ruined sheets and remain dirty until morning, the Russian gathered the linens that were tainted from bodily fluid and set them in a pile to be washed the next day. Next, he grabbed another towel and walked out of his room quietly, peeking around though the darkness to see if anyone else was awake. Seeing that the coast was clear, he hastily sneaked through the halls of the base towards the showers, every step sounding much louder than normal in the dead silence and long echoing hallways.

Mikhail slipped into the shower room and passed the skinks and toilets. He went to the locker area, the room preceding the actual shared communal showers. Still wary, he threw off his clothes quickly with hurried motions, fumbling with the sewn pajamas.

The water running over his body in the shower soothed his stressed and tense body as the thoughts flowed free and shame gripped him. How could he? How could he shame his own best friend with such thoughts and imaginings? How dare he believe it alright to fantasize about such things, and with such realism? One could argue it was only natural with him never having sex and being aware of what he was attracted to.

But that was the very problem. He _knew_ he was attracted to the German. He knew he very much liked him. So much, that he gave up his life for him. Sure, there was respawn, but in the heat of the moment, he didn't even think about it. In fact, he forgot. So if it were a real world experience instead of this skewed utopia, he would've died for good, and his friend would live on…granted, for five minutes. But it was the action, the will that made it matter. The knowledge that he would give up his life for his friend, that every time the German turned his back to him was sheer agony, that each moment with him is bliss.

No, it's inappropriate to think of a friend in this way. Especially not late night raptures in dreamland.

He shut off the water and lethargically snatched a towel to dry his body off. A light caught his attention and he quickly wrapped a towel around his unmentionables and walked over to see the source. It was very close, in about two rooms over. The bathrooms. When he entered, he saw a very familiar person, though perhaps in a state that he would rather not be caught it.

A man was hunched over the sink in flannel pajamas that had crab prints all over it. His feet had fuzzy pink bunny slippers with floppy ears and cute beaded eyes. Perfectly manicured nails gripped the razor as it glided over the skin of his chin and neck, the thin but chiseled handsome face drooping with the frown of tiredness and concentration. The passionate night black hair was haphazard over his face, as per it wasn't groomed or styled. It was greying at the temples, but gave the look of experience and intuition rather than actual age. His cool grey blue eyes looked too familiar to a certain chatter box that worked on the same team. The hooked nose with shallow cheek bones only added to the handsomely rogue face that teased every woman's heart. Each stroke over the shaving cream covered skin revealed a new patch of identity to the man. Mikhail knew he was in trouble the moment he gazed upon what lay over the side of the sink basin.

That tell tale burgundy red balaclava.

Mikhail had every intention to back out of the room as silently as he came, but there was no chance of it as the spy moved his face closer to the mirror to shave a particularly stubborn spot on his face.

"So you are awake too, mon ami?" He asked. The voice certainly matched the face. Mikhail froze in his attempt at sneaking away. He sighed and looked back to Spy.

"Da…so are you." Mikhail said back, exceptionally flustered. Spy calmly went back to his original height, having cut down the patch he was after and moving on to the next section.

"I find that shaving at 2 in the morning gives me almost guaranteed privacy. As well as a shower, laundry, and a well deserved manicure and pedicure. However, it seems tonight I have been joined by a very intelligent Russian who seems to be having troubles of the mind." The spy glanced at Mikhail.

"Let me guess, it has something to do with the good docteur running off into battle with no protection and us losing that day? What has it been, four days since? Yet, you have not made up, and your performance in the field has been declining." He said, his eyes staring at his late night visitor. Said visitor shifted uncomfortably.

"Da…but I not know what wrong."

"Monsieur Heavy, I have seen your file. I know you're fluent." The spy stated. The Slav wanted to curse the spy, but resigned to switch to Russian. Spy wasn't getting everything. Mikhail was willing to give certain things to certain people, but the spy only takes instead of requests. Yes, the Frenchman helped him, but that wasn't enough.

" _I am not sure what has been bothering Medic. Instead of talking to me, he just ignores me or runs off."_ Mikhail said in his native tongue. The spy sighed.

" _I see you refuse to open up. I will not pretend to not understand why. But this must be exhausting to you…"_ Spy responded likewise, having experience with most languages.

" _This isn't about me, Spy. Its about Medic."_ The Russian said impatiently. He didn't want the subject of conversation to be about him. Especially since he hated it when Spy knew every little thing about him. Or at least what was on his file. He didn't _dislike_ the spy, but he was just so secretive…speaking of which, why wasn't he going up the wall about Mikhail seeing his face? _"And why aren't you panicking about me seeing your face?"_

" _I thought this was about Medic."_ The spy said, a smirk coming to his face. Mikhail paused for a moment before shaking his head. _Touché, Spy…_

" _The Medic is not much unlike Mick, you know."_ The Frenchman continued, waving a hand _. "Flees at the first sign of attention, and closes himself off when a problem arises in his conscience."_

" _Mick_?" Mikhail inquired. The name sounded familiar… _"you mean Sniper?"_

" _Yes, Michael. I see that face; you are shocked that I know his name and openly call him by it. But yet again, you know the name of your potential lover too, do you not?"_ Spy said, leaning against the sink smoothly. While this new information didn't shock him, he still wondered why he went after a man so opposite to himself. Especially when said man hated his guts. Mikhail sat down on the bench and sighed, staring down at the floor.

" _Spy, we are just friends."_ He insisted. _"We do not have those types of feelings for each other."_

" _Are you convincing me of that, or yourself?"_

Mikhail glared at the man, infuriated by him. Not because he had the audacity to be so bold, but because he hit the nail right on the head.

" _Heavy, do not be angry. I only speak what I see."_ The spy stated, wetting a hand towel and wiping the excess shaving cream from his face.

" _Why shouldn't I be angry? You just barge right into my business- "_

" _Who walked into the bathroom where a mask-less spy just wants to shave in peace, hmm? The very thing that cripples men like me, is the revelation of the face. With all due respect, it's invasion of_ my _privacy and business."_ The other male stated, cutting him off and throwing them into silence. So that's why he wasn't going stir crazy over the fact that he saw his face. Spy was going to hold it over his good character, knowing Mikhail was more likely to feel guilt rather than victorious of finding blackmail material. He knew his character all too well.

" _Alright, but anyone could do that. It_ is _a public restroom."_ The Russian pointed out.

Another bout of silence.

" _Let us agree we both are at fault."_ Spy said finally after a moment of staring at Mikhail _. "I, for presuming too much. You, for invading my privacy."_

" _Fine."_ Heavy said, crossing his arms. The spy nodded and walked over to the bench to stand in front of the Russian.

" _You said you were not sure what was wrong with the Medic, why he refuses to speak to you. Do I have permission to offer a theory?"_

" _Fine."_ Mikhail said, his eyes not leaving the Frenchman.

" _Your explanation to why you helped him on the field is not enough. Or perhaps he is disappointed by it."_ He said. _"It is entirely possible that he is hurt by the fact your explanation does not have more personal intent."_

" _What was I supposed to say?"_ Mikhail exclaimed quietly.

" _I forgot about respawn and I was looking out for you because I care?"_ Spy said, exasperating his frustration _. "Honestly, is that so hard?"_

Yes. Yes, it was. Because he knew if he said that, he would feel inclined to say more than what was appropriate. That he perhaps maybe had a crush on the German. Other than the obvious fact that they had only met two weeks ago, there was absolutely no guarantee that Kaspar was homosexual. If anything, it was likely impossible. Yes, it was hard.

" _I see you are in more denial than I previously believed."_ Spy said in response to the Russian's pensive silence. _"It seems to me that instead of protecting yourself, you are doing everything in your power to run away from magic."_

And with that, the spy replaced his balaclava and gathered his things.

" _And for secrecy's sake, I expect everything that transpired this morning will be kept within these four walls."_ Spy said, cloaking and leaving the Russian in the tiled room.

Mikhail sighed heavily and leaned against his knees, rubbing his face as thoughts ran all around the labyrinth of his mind, making him more confused as ever.

Was Kaspar hurt by the lack of sentiment? The image of a man who relishes in scientific discovery through gore and compares himself to being god was hardly a thought that provoked sentimental reason to be preferential to logic. It just clashes. There's no room for the ideas of companionship.

Yet they _were_ companions. They were friends, cohorts, partners…

Mikhail saw the error in his thoughts towards the German. Just because he was a man of reason and partial insanity, that doesn't mean he is impartial to sentiment. He could admit that they were friends without revealing his inappropriate thoughts, yes? Yes, he could. What was he so afraid of? Medic was just the singular man in Mikhail's existence that made him feel like he…well, that he could do anything. And it wasn't the übercharge talking. With or without the creations that the German made, Mikhail felt amazing with him. He felt complete as a human being. With Kaspar, he was Mikhail, not Heavy.

 _Spy, you bastard…_ _спасибо._

It was eerily familiar, this position was. The doors outside the infirmary were just as they were the _last_ time Mikhail leaned against them, waiting for the German to emerge. This déjà vu was something he hoped will not be repeated often. Twice in two weeks was disconcerting.

The door creaked open at around 7 am with a very tired doctor shuffling out. He yawned and scratched at his stubble that was beginning to show. Mikhail for a split second regretted coming and waiting, but did away with his doubt by standing. This made a sound, causing the German to whirl around, eyes wide and arms up in a protective way. Upon seeing Mikhail, Medic visibly relaxed, though was still tense and guarded in his aura.

"Guten morgen…" he murmured, his eyes a steely neutral, as if not giving much thought to the Russian.

"доброе утро…" Mikhail responded, though far more warmly than his fellow mercenary. The gave a small hum as he noticed the geniality in the tone, almost as if he was scoffing at it. The Slav got rid of any doubts that the Spy was right about him wanting a more personal answer.

"Kaspar, I just wanted to say that…I've noticed that you're not happy with me." Mikhail began. Kaspar grunted but said nothing.

"…And you have every right to be." Mikhail admitted. This evoked a more substantial reaction from the German. His eyebrows lifted in slight shock and and regarded him more.

"I was…not being honest when I said that it was for the team. It seemed to be the right thing to say to keep professionalism." Mikhail said, never looking away from Medic. "I see now that…that it wasn't the best thing to say, and in fact may have offended you."

Kaspar seemed to weigh Mikhail's words in his mind before nodding in acceptance, though something still seemed to be right behind the surface of his charade of good nature, and it was the same emotion as before. The look that said "its not enough."

"I understand." He said. "I know that things have to be kept professional at all times, and I was being too…casual."

"No, doctor!" Mikhail exclaimed. "what I meant was, I thought that a man of such professionalism as yourself would not care for my sentimental reasons."

Both men froze, one in horror at what was slipped free, while the other dared to hope.

"Er, I mean that…you are my friend." Mikhail said, forcing himself to quickly explain. "And I am not used to respawn being there to catch us before we die. We both have faced death before and- "

"Ja, I see…" Kaspar cut him off. He was looking down the hall and away from Mikhail, hiding the out rightly disappointed look that adorned his face. "I understand. But can we please…put it behind us?"

"Da, please." Mikhail agreed, oblivious to the German's obvious disappointment and only glad that he could avoid the conversation.

"I'm going to shower and shave. I suppose you have already prepared for the day?" Kaspar asked, sparing a glance to his friend as he began walking away. Mikhail nodded.

"I still need to dress, but otherwise, yes." He stated, following the German in the same direction, though to a different destination. He slipped into his own room and began to dress for the weekend. As he did so, his thoughts wandered back to Kaspar and how he must have felt when he said it was for the team, and not because of their friendship. Why had he questioned him so coldly anyway? Was it so shocking that someone would want to help him?

 _The camps…_

Yes, it was. This distrust was well founded, much like how his own was. It was hard to overcome such a thing as that, and it was obvious now that the German was still healing. Yet again, he would be healing for a long time. Probably would still be healing when he dies.

That thought made his heart clench painfully.

To be in pain from your past until you died because of other's prejudice and hatred was perhaps the worst fate anyone could get. Mikhail knew he was still healing from his experiences as a child, but that was long ago, and time had healed him. But this German...his friend...

He shook his head and resolved to not think about it. It only depressed him, and he was sure that the man wouldn't want him paining over it, especially if he didn't do do himself. Which was unnatural in Mikhail's opinion.

He exited his bedroom and stretched, feeling his early morning interruption coming back to haunt him. Sluggishness settled into his system and he groggily pushed himself to grab a mug of coffee, though the Australian swore it was a terrible brew.

Speaking of said Aussie, he didn't look like the Australians he had heard of, and frankly he wasn't sure if he even _was_ Australian. However, he wasn't going to give way to stereotype. It was obvious that others had, and he probably was teased ruthlessly for it. And with the spy's never ending badgering at the Aussie, he probably thought Spy was no better than anyone else who had picked on him. Poor Sniper…and Spy is a fool for thinking that was a way to get to his heart.

For a man who is so eloquent in just about everything with the exception of battle (Mikhail _still_ can't get the image of Spy impersonating a crab and shaking his hips in a mocking way over a dead BLU engineer after sapping his sentries and backstabbing him), he sure acted like a six-year-old Ivan pulling Tosya's hair on the playground.

Mikhail found himself an hour later in the rec room, on the couch, with a tea, and listening to Scout prattle on. Correction: he was _not_ listening, but merely sitting there. Or at least he didn't at first. That changed when the young mercenary said this:

"So, you and Medic go the full run yet?" the youngling asked casually, flipping a cracker into his mouth.

"Hm?" Mikhail asked, the word "Medic" catching his attention.

"You and Medic. You know, going all the way?"

Mikhail paused in shock. What? Just, _what_?

"Oh come on! I'm positive you and Medic fucked!"

"Mate, that isn't appropriate to ask anyone." An Australian voice cut in. "Especially to people who are four times your size."

Sniper seemed to appear out of nowhere, holding his mug in one hand and his rifle in the other. He seemed to be in a pensive mood, and held with him a deep understanding. Or he was just tired. Probably tired.

"What!? I'm just saying-" Scout started, getting defensive. But then Sniper raised his gun partially. Not that it was pointing at him, but Scout shut up.

"And I'm also just saying. If you can't stop talking about other people's business, then get." The Aussie snapped. Scout growled and left.

"Fine, be that way. I _thought_ you were pretty cool." He muttered. Mikhail was about to thank the Sniper when he noticed how he seemed to disappear into thin air. Perhaps a little bit of Spy was rubbing off on him. The two did seem to get along better for some reason or another. Whatever the cause of this sudden amiable connection, it would serve the team better. After all, if all they ever do is fight, then how is the team to fully come together? So far, the only proven friendships are between Demo and Soldier, Pyro and Engineer, and Medic with himself.

Demo and Soldier shared a tenancy to be loud and overall insane. One by liquid spirits, the other by a jumbled brain from god knows what. They liked big and crazy adventures with little but their balls to lead them. Cards and gambling were also good enough entertainment if big explosions were not able to be done because of the weather, _if_ it ever was less than par.

Pyro and Engineer…that was an interesting twist. For one so chronically messed up and strange in every way, the Pyro _really_ liked the Texan. Not just the occasional wave and hello. No, this was a full on clinging child to its mother's hip. Pyro _loved_ hugs. And fire. Any fire at all, they loved. Pyro also had an unnatural love for extremely sweet foods. And they never tired from eating them (not that anyone saw them eat, they never took off their mask). But through all their quirks, Engineer didn't seem to mind their company. In fact, he almost looked like he enjoyed their presence, even when Pyro followed him around like a little duckling following its mama.

Himself and Medic…he was trying so hard to remain in the domain of friendship. It was terrible that Scout seemed to have noticed how Mikhail was more than friendly. Or that he at least saw that they were compatible and thought them…physically active. Who else thought that? Or was it just Scout? If the administrator thought them active, then farewell to the job…it was in their contract that they were not allowed to fraternized with one another as lovers. And they were friends, not lovers.

Besides, if there was one thing he leant in the ways of love from college, you do not date your best friend. It could go either way at that point. You could find your one person to spend the rest of your life with, or you tear each other's throats out. Mikhail had no doubts of Kaspar having ability to do more than rip his esophagus out to feed his birds.

Even worse would be that respawn would take him back and Kaspar would be waiting for him, ready for another go. And another. And another. And another…

"Mrmph Mhr Mrmph!"

Mikhail jumped slightly and turned his attention to the pyro, who was next to him, hunched over against the back of the couch. The being stared as if they expected an answer. Mikhail cleared his throat awkwardly and inched away from the fire crazed…person.

"Sorry, I not understand." He said, his voice a little shaky. How was this 5'10" shorty able to freak him out enough for him to almost break character? He could crush them with his thumb! If it wasn't burnt off first.

"Mrmph Mhr _Mrmph_!" they repeated, a little irritated now. Mikhail still didn't understand. He stood from the lumpy seat and shook his head.

"Sorry. Still not understand." He admitted. Pyro shook their head and walked to the counter, where there was a notepad and pen, left behind by Engineer who made a list at breakfast because he was given permit to get supplies outside of town that day. Which would explain why Pyro was about all alone. Only Engineer was allowed to leave, which caused Pyro to let out a stream of mumbles that were near hysterical, almost like a child being told that their mother was leaving for good. Separation issues, Medic had called it. And it had only been weeks since the two unlikely friends met.

They took up the pad and wrote quickly, occasionally crossing out a word or two. Afterwards, they gave it to him, which Heavy shakily took.

"Medic wants to talk to me evry avery every day. But he was meen mean. But he was just now nice." It said. The handwriting was messy and shaky, like the pyro had little control over the pen. Heavy handed the pad back.

"Alright…why? Why talk to me?" Mikhail asked slowly. Pyro scribbled some more and showed the pad's surface.

"You nowe know Medic. You are freinds friends, right? He isn't nice bcase becaus because he wants some thing something, right?"

Now that was a real question. So far, he had proven to want to settle his morbid curiosity with little to no regard of human life in the medical room and on the battlefield. Outside, it was a different story. He was all professional and no play. Kaspar didn't show any real interest in the other team members as intellectuals with the exception of engineer. Pyro would merely be a test subject. As sad as it was, Mikhail honestly wouldn't put it past his Medic to be a flatterer to get what he wanted.

"What you think?" He asked, instead of giving his truthful answer.

Pyro paused and tilted their head to one side as they considered the thought before writing again.

"That's why I asced asked you. Think I shuld should do it? He said he culd could help. Other peeple people said they wuld would. They lied."

Mikhail paused in thought.

"What…what need help for?" he asked slowly, hoping it wasn't anything serious. He may have said the others may be insane, but he meant that in an almost joking way or not medically diagnosed with insanity. But Pyro…Pyro, he wasn't so sure. And this new information unsettled him. They took _glee_ in what they did. Anyone who is overjoyed with burning people is not right.

Pyro wrote again.

"I dont don't nowe know. He said some thing something like 'front Al lob lobatomie recoverie and therapie'. He says I am still healing. I dont don't nowe know what he is talking about. I'm not sick. I'm fine!"

Mikhail's blood went cold at the words and he tried to remain neutral on the outside while he panicked inside. It took him a moment to decipher the misspelt and messy writing, but once he did, he realized that the Pyro was in fact insane. Medically diagnosed with insanity.

Well, there was a small chance of them _not_ being insane, but still.

Frontal lobe lobotomies were mainly done to patients in insane asylums, and they often destroyed people's mentality even more. On rare occasions, sane people were participants because of other minor problems, such as anger issues or maybe anxiety. But they were dangerous, and often done with non medical instruments in asylums. Mikhail remembered he had to take a health class in college and they mentioned it when they talked about psychology for a couple months. They didn't touch on the subject in full depth, like what lobotomies' full effects were, or how the patient healed afterwards.

If Pyro had a lobotomy, then…there was a very good chance that they really were chronically mad. If they did, then perhaps its better they _did_ go to Medic. Just in case they _do_ need therapy. But what would talking accomplish? Pyro only mentioned that Medic wanted to talk. Perhaps it is something more…something not in the best interest for Pyro…perhaps it was a process? Better to just let the firebug go and find out. Maybe they really did need to be checked on with regular treatment.

"Talk with Doktor. If he do something wrong, you just leave, da?" Heavy said, choosing his words carefully. Pyro didn't seem to like that answer, and hastily etched even more messy words.

"Dr.'s dont don't just leeve leave me alon alone if I walk awaie away. I'm sure Medic wont."

Mikhail sighed.

"Medic is not monster." he insisted. Oddly, Pyro seemed to accept that answer and waved goodbye, walking away as silently as they came. Mikhail was only thrown with more questions than answers.

What was Medic doing? Was he doing anther experiment? And was Pyro more of a danger than anyone thought originally? Should he be worried? How insane was Pyro? What was their history? Who even _is_ Pyro?

He decided to find out, rather than sit in the unknown.

* * *

* Lobotomies are high risk procedures, and were very commonly done to patients diagnosed with insanity. At the time, people were getting desperate to find cures for insanity. This desperation caused recklessness and inhuman practices to be placed upon patients. And since they were insane, they were often taken to be less than human anyway. (If you get queasy easily, don't read the rest of this paragraph). Lobotomies entailed lifting the eyelid, slipping a long thin spike (ice picks were often used) above the eyeball and below the surrounding flesh of the eye socket and pushing upwards at a 45º (degree) angle until the tip brushed against the thin and fragile bone surface that separates the brain from the eye socket. The Doctor would then take a blunt end of a tool (or a small hammer) and tap the end of the spike to break into the bone to break through and reach the frontal lobe of the brain. Lastly, the doctor would then scrape away the connections of the prefrontal cortex, destroying parts or all of the frontal lobe, depending upon what the patient was suffering from. Lobotomies were often done without anesthetics, but instead done when the patient had gone through high doses Electro-convulsive shocks to subdue them. They still could feel everything, but their body was unable to react.

 _ **sneak peek:**_

Mikhail sighed and sat back in the patient chair.

"Now do you understand, mein freund?" Kaspar said, getting desperate to have his point made. "I can do it, I know I can. And the Pyro will benefit from it. They can have a life after this!"

"I suppose…" Mikhail murmured, flipping the small book in his hands absentmindedly. Kaspar smiled and accepted the answer, it being enough.

"Well, that's all tender and sweet, doc…but I think we _all_ know you don't actually care about Py."

The two Europeans turned at the sound of another voice. For someone so short, Mikhail felt his blood freeze in terror.

Engineer was standing in the doorway of the lab, arms crossed and looking ready to strangle someone with the extension cord on his hip.

"I have a bone to pick with you, Doc… _or should I even call you that_?"


	9. Some Things Are Better Left Alone

Mikhail had never heard Pyro's voice before. Well, not without the gas mask essentially blocking every cohesive word that was uttered by the wearer. However, normally, he wouldn't care too much. If they wanted to keep being secretive, then who was he to barge in? However, here he was, ear pressed to the medbay doors to listen to the two people inside. He could very distinctly hear Kaspar talking, but the one he was more interested in was the smaller, much lighter one.

It was quiet and shy, bashful, even. Mikhail once had a classmate who spoke in the same way, if he were afraid to say anything or else he would be bullied. Had Pyro been subjugated in the same way? Or was it just their personality.

Speaking of the subject of "they", based off the tone and pitch of the voice, the Russian could not identify the gender either. It was too low to be a woman, but too high to be a man. This made it all the more frustrating. There were two circular windows on the double doors that gave a view for the tall Russian, but as it was, Medic had already thought of that. He actually had the surgical screens up in front of the pair talking.

He was able to see a blurry silhouette that was definitely not his doctor.

Based off the head and neck size, it was obvious that the uniform Pyro had to wear was three sizes too big. It was baggy and hanging off the firebug as they meandered around a little, always staying behind the screen. However, Mikhail had a good look of their profile.

The head was perfectly shaped as if it were bald, or at least had very little hair. The nose was small and almost like Scout's, only less protruding and shorter. The chin and forehead were curved, but seemed a little too angular. Not from muscle, but from bone structure. The neck looked fragile and thin.

Mikhail was struck by something that was far too unnerving to ignore.

Pyro may be no older than scout. Perhaps younger. The face was one of youth, and it certainly looked far younger. And they were shorter…scratch that. Height had nothing to do with it, considering Pyro was best friends with the shortest member of the team, who also was one of the middle aged in the group. Either way, they may be dealing with a minor on the field. The administrator wouldn't hire a minor, would she?

There was a tone of dismissal and he saw the unknown person grab their mask from the desk. Mikhail quickly bolted from the door and went around the corner to wait for Pyro to pass. The doors opened and the footsteps slowly got quieter as they went in another direction. Mikhail took this as an opportunity to go to the German and confront him with his concerns. He went ahead and entered the room, as Medic requested him to do so in the days prior.

Said German was leaning against the desk with a small tattered brown book in his hands, the cover black in the corners and the pages browned from age. At the sound of Mikhail approaching, Kaspar looked up from the book.

"Mikhail. What brings you here?" he asked curiously.

"Pyro mentioned to me that you requested to speak with them." Mikhail started. "They said you were going to help them. How? What is wrong with them?"

Kaspar put the book on the desk and straightened his glasses with his pointer finger.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality." He said tersely, giving him a look that suggested he was tired of reminding Mikhail of that detail. Mikhail ignored it.

"I understand, but I'm sure that what you plan is not even known to Pyro. They even said they didn't know." Mikhail pointed out.

"Is that right?" Kaspar said, sighing. "I said exactly what I wanted from Pyro. I wanted to help them heal from their frontal lobotomy."

"They don't know what that is." Mikhail said in frustration.

"They don't need to." He said dismissingly, waving a hand casually before snatching the book off the desk once more, seemingly looking for something on the pages.

"Kaspar, by the way Pyro had come to me, it was like they didn't trust you. If you do the wrong thing to them they may retaliate." Mikhail pointed out, hoping to deter his friend from doing something he may regret.

"Respawn will bring me back. You are forgetting what pain I went through." The German countered, not looking up from the pages. "Nothing hurts worse than those months in Poland. If anything, I barely feel pain, anymore."

Heavy knew that subject wouldn't and shouldn't progress further. And it obviously wouldn't work on him. Time to switch tactics.

"Alright, what if you scare them by any procedure? It's harder to pin an unwilling subject, da?"

"Oh, mein freund…" the German laughed, now looking up at his teammate. "If my hypothesis is correct and my experiment is successful, then any fear is only a _sign_ of my success!" he was starting to sound giddy now. Mikhail sighed and sat down in the patient chair, where Pyro had settled for a moment not too long before.

"Alright…just…tell me what you plan on doing. I know, you uphold doctor patient confidentiality, but the truth is, you are _not_ a doctor, and you _can_ tell me. Besides, what is so wrong with telling me?"

Kaspar tapped his fingers on the wood of his desk in thought. He looked frustrated with him, and overall irked. No doubt it was because Mikhail denied that he was a doctor in a serious tone.

"If I tell you…you must help me. I will not tell anyone that is not involved. Do you understand, Mikhail?"

This proposition didn't seem so bad. Once he knew what he was handling, perhaps he could convince him properly, without any mistakes in logic, and perhaps hit all the pressure points to break his will. Therefore, he wouldn't have to help in anything, because he would've convinced him to abandon the project.

"Da, I will help you, Doktor."

"Wünderbar!" he exclaimed, turning into a giddy old man in an instant. He rushed over to several medical books on the operating table. They looked old and worn, but still high quality and in great shape. He snatched them all and threw them at Mikhail, who barely caught them.

"Read those textbooks!" he said, bouncing to his desk. "This is exciting!"

"Er...what?" Mikhail asked, turning them over to read the titles.

 _Anatomy of the Brain, Psychology, Sciences Behind Lobotomy, Neurosciences_

"Doktor, what-"

"I can't have you help me without knowing anything about how the body works!" Kaspar said, as if Mikhail was insane.

"I took a health class!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Besides the point!" the German ignored his comment. "At least you have new reading material!"

Mikhail sighed and shook his head.

"Very well…but don't do anything else until I return, da?"

"Ja, ja, ja, very well." Kaspar said, not very convincingly as he flipped though the pages of the small book. "It's in here, I know it!" he muttered as an afterthought.

"What are you-" Mikhail began, but was cut off by his friend's shushing, and pointing to the textbooks. He sighed and dejectedly left the lab, filled with more concerns than ever.

On his way back, he saw Spy around the corner with Sniper.

 _Oh this is something I have to see._

The relationship between these two polar opposite men was fascinating, only because he had seen this type of relationship in several books he had read, and he had never seen a homosexual relationship before. Not that he was suggesting _Sniper_ was. But he _knew_ Spy was the very least bi. He hid behind a corner as he had done with Pyro and the entrance to the lab and listened.

"-resting as that is mate, I'm not going to be a part of your little scheme. You do your spying. Leave me out."

"Mon amour, please. Do you honestly believe that the toymaker would listen to me? Especially on this subject?"

"What makes _me_ any different? I don't talk to him! I have no excuse to talk about something like that! _Especially_ Pyro!"

 _What? What is going on? This was getting big…and all over the mystery member of the team…_

"I have no reason to talk to Truckie. _None_!"

"Come now, you cannot be that blind, can you?"

"Wot- I mean, what are you implying?"

"Take a wrench to your van, unplug a few things and call in Engineer! There, a valid reason to talk to him!"

"That's lying and using someone. That goes _against my code, mate!"_

A silence.

"You just called me your friend…"

"Y-yeah…I guess I did…"

"Mick, please. I wish to know why Medic would send me off base against contract terms to steal something from the administrator of all people. This does not bode well for me, nor our Medic. He is being reckless and getting people involved in his sick humored experiments. He may not be a Nazi, but he very well could be with all that he has done."

"What do you mean?"

"There was one file I was unable to reach because it was being processed while I was in the administrator's records. That one was Medic. You think I would not pass up that opportunity?"

"No, I guess not…what did it say?"

"Those stories that he told us on the operating table?"

"Yeah?"

"All of them are true! And they are not even the worst he has done!"

"Jesus fucking Christ…"

"Indeed. We have a childish madman playing medical professional! And _we_ are the _patients!_ "

"…Look mate, I get that this is all…well, it's unnerving to say the least, but I don't want to get involved."

There was a momentary silence.

"I'll help you get off this base so you can take care of your internal conflict about me."

Another silence.

"Wot?"

"I've seen the way you look at me. It's a mixture between wanting to throwing up and acceptance to my attentions. Furthermore, you have insulted me far less, but enough for the others not to notice too much. And I know you snuck off with that calendar in respawn. Didn't help?"

"…No…"

"I expected so. Therefore, I suggest that we both go into town and you get yourself a prostitute or at least a lap dance. If nothing occurs out of the ordinary, then I shall cut my losses upon chasing you, and you can go home to happy parents being the heterosexual self you've been expected to be."

"You make my parents sound like villains brainwashing me."

"I cannot deny your father sounds like a real _gentleman. Very_ polite. I honestly wonder how you two are related."

"I seriously wonder that myself. So we go into town for a night and get back here before work?"

" _Only if_ you talk to Engineer."

"Deal. We get caught breaking terms and orders, I'm blaming you."

"I understand, mon amour."

Footsteps began moving in the opposite direction and Mikhail was free to pass. He however just stood there in shock at all that he had learned.

Medic had gotten Spy involved. Probably out of desperation to get medical records or something like that. When someone is excited into desperation, especially of you are Medic, you undoubtedly make some unwise decisions. Going to Spy to steal information is just asking for trouble. If the nosy spy wasn't enough, if the administrator noticed something amiss…

And then there was the subject of Medic…Kaspar…

Mikhail knew his friend had issues with having a power complex, but this…this was more than he ever wanted to know. He was happy with the image of a lonely doctor who was the tragic hero. But the knowledge that he had hurt people, and that he wasn't joking about his stories…that changed everything. Even worse was that it apparently wasn't the most inhumane thing he had done during his career.

 _And you love him…_

Woah, wait a moment. Not going that far at all. Like. Crush. Admiration. _Not love._ That sort of emotion doesn't hit immediately. Love is the understanding and respect of the other person, body and mind alike. Love isn't instant because you cannot know their mind just by looking at them. Love takes time, effort, and hits in order for it to be real. And this was a hit indeed…

And Sniper and Spy being open to one another? What happened in the past two weeks? In front of everyone else, they were obviously at each others throats, one in anger, the other in obsession. Was Sniper having thoughts about Spy that were not straight per say? That would explain the conflicted feelings and the mention of heterosexuality.

An image flashed in his mind of Sniper and Spy in a bed stroking and caressing one another, kissing passionately while unclothed, and he shivered.

He was definitely done thinking about that. No more listening in to _them_. He had reading to do.

* * *

 _No…no, he can't possibly…_

Mikhail ran out of his room and bolted down the hall, nearly running over the Scout.

"Hey! I'm walking here, fatass!" Scout yelled after him, though Mikhail didn't hear him. He burst into the lab, partially out of breath. He was greeted by the sight of Medic holding a severed head and said head was cursing loudly in French.

 _Oh my god…_

"That…not Spy head, nyet?" Mikhail asked, going into character. Kaspar looked up from the blue masked head and smiled at his friend.

"Ja! I managed to keep the head alive after chopping it off again!"

" _KILL ME!"_ the Blu spy head screamed.

" _Again!?"_ Mikhail exclaimed in shock.

"Ja!" Kaspar confirmed chipperly. "How do you think I tested my ubercharge? Ooh! Have you finished reading those books I leant you?"

" _KILL ME!"_ Spy repeated.

"Later!" Kaspar scolded.

"I…have…Doktor please, this hand is out!" Mikhail cried.

"Its 'out of hand', you imbecile!" Spy snapped. " _KILL ME_!"

" _Later_!" The German snapped.

Mikhail had enough. He snatched the bone-saw that was on the table and plunged it into the skull, silencing the head immediately as it was knocked out of Kaspar's hands and landed on the floor with a splat and an explosion of blood. There was an abrupt silence that echoed. Mikhail broke it.

"You can't and you know it."

A frown made its way to Kaspar's face.

"Und why not?" he growled, his German accent getting thicker.

"Because you are better than the Nazis. This, what you plan to do…it's just as they did."

" _It is not!"_ Kaspar snapped, slipping wholly into his German language in his fury. " _What those monsters did was unforgivable! I am doing this for the greater good!"_

" _That's hardly an excuse."_ Mikhail countered likewise, his temper rising as well. _"My father was murdered for the sake of the greater good. My sisters and mother were raped for the greater good."_

" _Your father wasn't shot like mine! He died of the cold induced sickness!"_

" _No, but he was forced into a camp, where he died! If we were not in that camp, we never would have to watch him as he was thrown into a mass grave!"_

" _And you claim that as a wretched thing! At least it wasn't you who threw him into the grave! Or into an oven, still alive!"_

The echoing silence returned, only it was worse. Kaspar seemed to deflate as the reality of his words hit him and he sighed heavily, his anger subsiding.

"This is getting us nowhere…" he began, his tone softer and much more quiet. "Arguing about our past before this like it is a competition of misery is pointless. What happened happened. We cannot change it."

"Da…da, you are right…" Mikhail agreed. "But…you still can't do this…"

"Again, why not?" Medic asked, picking up the now dead head of the spy and removing his bone-saw from its cranium.

"Because its not humane. It's not right. I believed you better than that…"

"And now?" he asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"Spy…Spy saw your file. And he wasn't pleased with what he found." Mikhail revealed. Kaspar looked ready to argue, or at the very least demand what else he revealed.

"He didn't say what you did, but he did confirm that those stories you told us were true." He quickly assured. "When you were giving us the übercharge surgery, that is."

"I see…" Medic sighed, the frown still on his face. "I know what is not said on my file, and because it's not there, it doesn't give any reason for anyone to be on my side…"

"Doktor?"

"The four men that I did those things to…were the very men that ordered and carried out my family's death. Could you or anyone else blame me? Those were…indulgences to revenge."

"And are you satisfied?" Mikhail asked, sitting down.

"No. Because my ultimate goal is not achieved. Only then can I claim the true victory." Kaspar joined him, placing the bone-saw back on the desk. Archimedes flew down from his roost to sit on Kaspar's head, snuggling into the black hair, pecking at the strands as he did so.

"I see you are 'fixing' daddy's hair…" Kaspar muttered.

"He is doing a _marvelous_ job." Mikhail teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Schweinhund." Kaspar said, though he was smiling gently. Mikhail chuckled.

"If you don't mind me asking…what _is_ the true victory for you?"

"Live forever."

"Isn't that a far fetched idea?"

"Yes, but when you are surrounded by death, and you have to learn to live with life all around you all over again, it becomes the much preferred choice, ja?"

"Yes, but…dying is a part of living. And you go to someplace better-"

"Do not sell me the lies of a heaven or a hell." Kaspar cut him off. "That is just man's way of convincing himself that there is someone that cares and will bring justice to someone else's crimes without looking at their own."

"If not a heaven or hell, then what?" The Russian inquired.

"Nothing. There will be nothing. There is no god among man. And there is no god or place beyond death. You cease to exist except by memory*."

"I like to think that there is a place where I can be happy. That makes death much less frightening. Without hope or faith…isn't it a dark world?" Mikhail reasoned.

"Why convince anyone of the sugar coated anarchy that is religion?" Kaspar asked.

"Faith and hope is all I had when I was in the Gulag." Mikhail insisted, before sighing. "But I'm not here to convince you to accept faith. I'm here to dissuade you from continuing what I believe you plan on doing to Pyro."

"And that would be?"

"Re-growing the destroyed cells of their frontal lobe."

"Indeed…" Kaspar confirmed, almost disappointed that Mikhail figured it out. "Was it that obvious?"

"Pencil notes in the margins." Mikhail chuckled.

"…I meant to erase those. _I_ wanted to tell you."

"Lets just say that you did though your notes." He consoled. "But honestly, why do this?"

"Ever wanted to know if you could do something? Something that would bypass everyone else?" Kaspar asked, sounding slightly wistful.

"You've already done that." The other pointed out. "With the übercharge and the medigun."

"Ja, but it's not enough. They can only do so much. It won't fix Pyro, and it wont extend our lives. Consider this experiment with Pyro a stepping stone to achieve eternal life."

"Consider how Pyro feels about it." Mikhail jabbed back.

"Sassy." Kaspar commended with a smirk. "But not too much a concern. They will thank me when its over."

"Most people have lobotomies for a _reason,_ Kaspar." Heavy mentioned logically. "Maybe there was a good reason for Pyro to have one."

"I was not given any records of pre-lobotomized Pyro. That was what I sent Spy to go after."

"That?"

"Yes, and any personal journals or diaries that Pyro might have been required to keep."

"And?"

Kaspar held up the singed and aged book he was flipping through earlier.

"Only three journals were found. This is the oldest. Apparently there _isn't_ a record in their file." He said, giving it to Mikhail.

"All the more reason to not tread into that territory." Mikhail muttered, opening it. He was greeted with even messier writing than what he saw earlier, and with lots and _lots_ of spelling and grammatical errors. It was like looking at a five-year-old diary. He saw the year in the inside cover in much neater print.

1967\. Four years ago…

"I believe Pyro wasn't meant to be given a lobotomy." Medic said. "I believe it was done by a doctor who was stupid and overall desperately trying to control disabled and insane people, and didn't really know what he was doing. Dummkopft."

"How do you figure?" the Slav asked.

"Based off the Pyro's writings, he was scared and nervous more often than not, and lashed out at people when something went wrong." He explained. "Furthermore, if anyone found out he was doing lobotomies without proper procedure and there had any investigation of any kind, no doubt he would loose his license just as I did. I believe Pyro wasn't supposed to know that a lobotomy was done to them, or anyone else."

"But they do?"

"They don't know the official name, but they know the procedure."

Mikhail went back to the booklet and decided to decipher a little instead of just glancing over.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _I hurt. They give me new white cloths every day all the time. I get a room to myself. Its lonely. Dr. Carl came to me just now. He now shows me rainbows every day. He asked me if I could hear from my ear a sound he made. I heard nothing. He asked if my head hurt. I said I hurt all the time. He gave me two spoonfuls of medicine. I asked about my roommate._

 _He said they were euthanized._

 _I asked what that meant._

 _He said it meant I would be getting a new roommate._

 _I asked where they went._

 _He said that they went to see a man named god._

 _I asked when they were coming back._

 _He said they were never coming back._

Hard to understand, with all the spelling errors and messy writing, but he managed to correct the mistakes in his mind. So Pyro…was deaf in one ear. That would explain why they sometimes wouldn't respond, even if you were right next to them. And what were these rainbows they talked about?

"Say you succeed. What would happen to their personality?" Mikhail asked, closing the journal. He knew the frontal lobe was essentially the center where the characteristics and emotions of a person were held.

"It would effect much more than that! Motor skills would return to peaked condition, the imagination wouldn't be so intense to cause schizophrenia, their mentality wouldn't be stuck in the mindset of a 5-to-6-year-old, and would be able to mature and learn anything*!" he exclaimed, turning excited once more. "And they will feel the emotion of fear!"

"That…" Mikhail sighed and sat back in the patient chair.

"Now do you understand, mein freund?" Kaspar said, getting desperate to have his point made and have his friend accept his opinion and will to achieve. "I can do it. I know I can. And the Pyro will benefit from it. They can have a life after this!"

"I suppose…" Mikhail murmured, flipping the small book in his hands absentmindedly. Kaspar smiled and accepted the answer, it being enough.

"Well, that's all tender and sweet, doc…but I think we _all_ know you don't actually care about Py."

The two Europeans turned at the sound of another voice. For someone so short, Mikhail felt his blood freeze in terror.

Engineer was standing in the doorway of the lab, arms crossed and looking ready to strangle someone with the extension cord on his hip.

"I have a bone to pick with you, Doc… _or should I even call you that_?" the Texan spat. His hardhat and goggles were missing. His blue eyes were almost as bright as Medic's, but the sharp natural and achieved intellect behind them gave away their true owner.

"That all depends, Herr Engineer…" Kaspar responded, standing up. "This 'bone' you wish to pick with me…what is it?"

"My buddy, Pyro. And I know exactly what you plan on doing."

In an instant, Mikhail wanted to high tail it out of the medbay. How long had be been listening? Long enough for him to see that he was indeed faking his ignorance?

"You plan on messing with his mind?" the laborer continued. "His very character? Like hell you will."

 _His? So…it was a boy?_

"Interesting…" Medic mused. "You defend your friend so ardently, yet you don't know who they really are…"

"It don't matter who Pyro is! He's my friend and you aren't experimenting any of your damn stuff on him! His opinion _does_ matter, and he don't know what you are up to! Well _I_ do, and I don't like it!"

"Herr engineer, we are both adults. Perhaps you would like to speak of this without acting like I am the enemy Medic?"

"Keep doing what you are doing, and the colors we wear won't matter anymore to me…" Engineer growled, but entered the lab officially and standing with the other two men. He was dwarfed by them but he held his own power over the two.

"Now," Kaspar began, walking behind his desk. "You are opposing to the healing of Pyro because…?"

"Because its damn well immoral!" Engineer snapped. "Pyro is happy the way he is!"

"Because they don't know any better. They have no memory before their procedure." Kaspar countered.

"Oh for the- Maybe that's better! Maybe what he was then is worse for him and maybe even the rest of us!"

"You fear your friend?" Kaspar asked, turning curious.

"No, I don't now!" Engineer exclaimed in frustration. "But if he really was treated for insanity, and you don't know what he was like before that, you may as well have created someone who can't control himself and his actions!"

"You don't know that either."

"You willing to risk that?

"Why not?"

"Of course you would say that, you're not his friend! You don't care! All you care about is your own interests!"

"If that is what you believe."

"Do you even know what you are doing!?"

"Admittedly, I am not a psychologist, but I can very well deal with the physical procedures."

"You have no inhibitions, do you?" Engineer breathed out in shock.

"I know Pyro most certainly does not." Kaspar said, smirking like he knew something Engineer did not.

"Doc, is that even moral?" The Texan almost begged. "To mess with the mind so blindly…you even said so yourself, you are not a psychologist!"

"One does not need too much psychology to experiment on a brain." Kaspar countered. "Besides, think of the benefits! To regrow complex brain matter before science regrows myelin* or simpler organs! The medigun already does those things, but to do it to a subject that has already healed! Think of what a trium-"

"And you are willing to sacrifice humanity and caution for it?" Engineer snapped, interrupting his ramblings of grandeur. Kaspar's gleeful expression turned stony in an instant.

"I am making my way to breaking scientific boundaries. With every year that passes, I feel closer to death, which is why I am willing to take risks no one else is." Medic said levelly.

"And you're willing to destroy my friend for your so called boundaries?" Engineer asked.

"Ja."

"Well I'm not." The Texan snarled. "And so help me, you lay a hand on him, I'm gunna blow that smarmy grin right off your Nazi face." And with that, he turned around and stormed his way out of the room. Mikhail quickly looked to his companion to see his reaction of being called a Nazi. Surprisingly, he didn't seem bothered by it.

"That would do well, if pain was my Waterloo!" Kaspar called, mocking the engineer. Of course. That's why. He still had the upper hand. The engineer just kept going, and when they were alone, Kaspar looked to Mikhail.

"I say that went surprisingly well." He said happily. Mikhail stared. He was starting to wonder whether Pyro was the true insane one on the team.

"Doktor…I agree with Engineer." Mikhail murmured slowly.

" _Was*_!?" Kaspar exploded, staring at him.

"I don't like this one bit, and seeing as how you have no respect for human life in comparison to scientific discovery, I agree with him. I won't take part in this."

Kaspar frowned deeply and sat down in the patient chair.

"I see…" he murmured, seemingly thinking of more things than just experimentation. Mikhail sighed.

"I respect you, Doktor…but I cannot be a part of this."

"So you will not stop me?" he asked, looking up hopefully at him.

"You believe I can?" Mikhail asked, chuckling a little and doubting his ability. Kaspar smiled amiably with a dash of wistfulness that Mikhail couldn't help but believe to be more than friendly.

"Believe me, I have all the faith in the world that you could…" Kaspar said.

* * *

* Judaism primarily focuses on the life on earth, so the life after death is often left to half interpretation. The reform Jewish people I have met and conversed with have explained their opinion, and I believe it fits Medic's philosophy on life and death. They explained that their afterlife is based off what you have done in life, and the memory you leave behind. If you leave no impact and no memory behind, your afterlife is worth nothing, or at least consists of nothing. So to watch so many people wiped from the earth with no memory and no ceremony was even more impactful to Medic in those years.

* These are a few of the results of a frontal lobotomy. Each procedure has a different effect, and have varying success. but common post lobotomized patients suffer from troubled motor control, problems learning, and loss of parts of the personality. the destruction of the entire frontal lobe would result in a person devoid of any emotional capacity and personality. In essence, a human shell with nothing there.

* In case anyone doesn't know, Myelin is the protective sheath that covers the nerves in the body, and is in essence a electrical insulator. It acts like a plastic around a wire, and help guide the pulses through the nerve. the deficiency of Myelin is often found in diseases such as ALD (Adrenoleukodystrophy), Schizophrenia, and Multiple Sclerosis. The Myelin Project is an organization that is researching how to regrow myelin, and was founded in 1989 by Michaela and Agusto Odone, whose son, Lorenzo, suffered from ALD. Michaela and Agusto also were the creators of Lorenzo's Oil, the treatment for ALD (while it doesn't cure ALD, it does stop the effects the patient would face, such as having tantrums, seizures, dementia; becoming blind, deaf, dumb and immobilized before death.)

*Was= german for "What"

I think I'll let you guys hang again ;)

 _ **Ok, there seems to be something wrong with the reviews, because I get your reviews and the notification email, but when I go to respond and give my thanks, the site throws an Error at my face. :( So in advance, thank you so much for reading and caring enough to leave a thought behind! If you want a response, head over to my ao3 account under the username:**_ Hazel_Inle

 ** _They take guest reviews as well as user reviews, so please stop by! :) Love you all so much!_**


	10. Another Successful Procedure

Another "Successful" Procedure

Mikhail's eyes shot open wide and he sat up in his bed, breathing hard and sweating. It took him a moment to remember where he was and why he was there. He groaned tiredly and wiped the sweat off his brow, grumbling about how much he _hated_ that his lucid dreams were becoming a normalcy, and even getting _worse_. Instead of just dreaming of making love with the wonderfully complicated German, he was also mindlessly fucking him in all types of positions and all around the base. On desks and operating tables, against walls and windows, _in the respawn room._

That last one nearly did Mikhail in. It felt so real and vivid, and with the added on risk of being caught by anyone on the team…the sudden and most intense end to the dream made Mikhail wake up and fall out of bed, wondering why he wasn't in the respawn room with Medic before he remembered that it was a dream.

Rolling over and trying to go back to sleep usually worked, but this time, something was keeping him up. Something that was urgent. Mikhail knew this feeling all too well, and knew not to ignore his instincts. Running from the communists for most his life had taught him that much. He quickly got out of bed and proceeded to leave his room. As he left, he glanced at the alarm clock: 3:37 AM.

 _What could possibly keep me up so early?_

His question was answered soon enough with a slam. Mikhail's head whirled around in the direction of the noise, and his eyes met with a dark hall. However, it was obvious to him at the end of that hall was the Medbay, and the rec room. Two potential targets. Mikhail decided to go to the likelier of the two first; the Medbay.

The walk was one he memorized by heart. This trek was comforting in its way, and the green doors had become a symbol of his friend. They were a positive thing, for he was the one who was always given entry. As he suspected, the light was on, and there was another loud thud in the lab. Mikhail sighed and shook his head.

 _Silly workaholic doktor…_

He entered the lab with enough noise so that he wouldn't startle the man. As soon as he stepped in, Kaspar looked up from his cooler box on the floor, the biohazard symbol blaring out in a harsh tacky red.

"Ooh, sorry, did I wake you?" Kaspar said, standing straight. He was without his coat and gloves, but otherwise was still in uniform. As almost expected, blood was up to his elbows and teasing at the crisply folded white sleeves.

"No, but I heard you from my room." Mikahil responded, waving a hand dismissing the thought that Kaspar would do such a thing. Having heard he wasn't a nuisance, he went back to work and dove his hands back into the cooler's contents.

"What is that?" Mikhail asked, craning his neck to see over his friend's shoulder.

"Organs!" Medic giddily exclaimed, lifting a strangely shaped brown leathery muscle. It took Mikhail a moment to realize what it was, and arched an eyebrow.

"Why do you have a human liver?"

"Ja ja, I know it is strange for me to have human organs, but I was assured that they would not be missed!" Kaspar said, placing the liver in a sterile bag. "Frau Pauling has a way of getting organs for me for free! Did you know that a mega-baboon heart costs somewhere in the neighborhood around five million dollars?"

"No, I did not." Mikhail responded, a little unnerved by the number.

"Ja! Trust me, it's good that I work for an employer that has no issue with expensive parts! But the occasional non-voluntary donor is always welcome."

"Miss Pauling takes them from people for you?"

"Dead people." Kaspar reiterated. "She has to kill people for the Administrator all the time, and I said it was a shame that all those organs go to waste. To save money in the medical budget, she gives me the organs. Strange, ja? That animal organs are more expensive than human…"

"I see…" Mikhail murmured, leaning against the operating table. "So you and Miss Pauling talk often?"

"To an extent, Ja." The German responded, steadily going though the contents of the cooler and bagging them up and labeling each with a sharpie.

"An interesting frau." He commented. "One day off a year, just like the rest of us."

"So it was not her idea for us to be working all the time." Mikhail concluded.

"Nein, that is the administrator." Kaspar said, washing his hands in the deep stainless steel sink. "Another interesting frau."

This grabbed Mikhail's attention instantly.

"You _met_ the administrator?" Mikhail gaped at his friend. Kaspar turned his head to look back at Mikhail.

"yes…didn't you?" Kaspar asked, acting as if he thought Mikhail and the rest of the team did.

"No…I did not." He admitted.

"Odd…I thought everyone did. I met Pyro there and I just assumed." He shrugged, not giving it a second thought.

"No…" Mikhail sighed, crossing his arms slightly. "I just met Pauling."

"Interesting…"

"What was she like?" Mikhail asked suddenly.

"Who?" Medic replied, thinking the conversation was over.

"Whe administrator." Mikhail pressed.

"Oh, Helen?" Mikhail gave him a shocked look that he was using her first name almost casually. Kaspar seemed to take no notice "Serious. No nonsense. Smoked a lot. She's worse than Herr Spy when it comes to chain smoking. Very unhealthy. Requires me to give updates every week. Engineer has to do the same, since he's in charge of respawn."

"You…don't say…"

"Oh ja." He said, waving a hand, dismissing the entire matter. "She is very strict as to the health of the mercenaries."

"Strict?" Mikhail asked.

"Ja. She has certain standards, and allows me to experiment if it will benefit the team."

"Which is why you were able to make the ubercharge…" Mikhail pieced together. "And pyro?"

"Yes. Even Pyro. Speaking of which, Pyro should be here in," he looked at his watch. "Now, actually." He looked up to the door and shook his head.

"Pyro is almost never on time. Not that I should expect anything less." Kaspar said, albeit a little bitterly.

"Pyro still nervous about you?"

"Oh no!" Kaspar shook his head. "just has a lack of attention span. Very common."

"Oh." Mikhail murmured. They were silent for a moment as Kaspar cleaned the cooler and set it out to dry, careful not to get any blood on his clothes. after he was done, he turned back to Mikhail.

"So are you staying for the therapy session?" he asked, grabbing his clipboard and writing a few notes. Mikhail thought for a moment.

"I haven't…decided."

"Well, if you do, kindly let me do the talking. I haven't fully found out what their previous condition was before the procedure, and in this particular case, the patient's full cooperation is needed."

"What do you plan on doing?" Mikhail asked.

"We are still in the observation period, and will be for the next week. Next week is when I decide what method to take and begin procedures."

Mikhail was about to ask about what methods he had in mind, when the doors to the lab opened. Mikhail turned his head and was surprised to see Pyro out of uniform. Well, _mostly_ out of uniform. All that pyro had on was a one-piece pajama set, gloves, and gas mask. Mikhail was sure the one piece had a name, but either way, it covered Pyro's entire body, including the feet. It even had a hood. The pajamas were pink in color and the hood had a face of a horse with a horn on top in between the two triangle ears. A unicorn? Pyro was just getting stranger and stranger.

As soon as Pyro entered and saw that there was one more person in the room that they were expecting, they froze and looked back and forth between the two men.

"It's alright, Pyro." Kaspar said, his voice surprisingly soft and encouraging. "He is just here for the same reason I am. To help you."

Mikhail glanced at his friend and did not expect him to look so warm and inviting. His features were softened over and his eyes were now more gentle and kind rather than sinister and sadistic like they were in battle. Mikhail, as much as he liked to believe Kaspar was able to be like this naturally, had the suspicion that he was faking it. And faking it _wonderfully_.

Pyro seemed none the wiser to his façade, and far more concerned with the Russian giant, whom they were not told was going to be there.

"Mrmhm Mrphmpmh." Pyro said, pointing to Mikhail. Kaspar shook his head.

"Now Pyro, I understand the apprehension of having practically a stranger in the room with us, but I always prefer a second opinion. The more opinions I have, the easier it will be for us to proceed." Kaspar assured. Pyro was having none of it, and shook their head, pointing to the door.

"Nr. Grrt Orrt." They said. It was clear what they wanted. Mikhail sighed and stood up straight.

"Doktor, I see later. Good night Medic, Pyro." Mikhail stated, walking back towards the doors. He tried to pretend he wasn't self conscious of the two blank eyes that followed him behind the optic lenses as he passed by, and jumped when the small firebug grabbed his arm.

"Mrmhm Mrurr Murh MrmMhm." Pyro said to him, the tone darker and made Mikhail's hair stand on end. It was almost sinister in nature and Mikhail felt terror run through him as he remembered what Spy had said about them.

"Pyro, we have a lot to do, and if we do not hurry, the rest of the team will be up by the time we settle and begin." Kaspar intervened, placing a hand on Pyro's shoulder. They turned to the German for a second before letting Mikhail go.

Once he was released, he practically ran out of the infirmary and into the hall. He didn't stop until he reached his bedroom, and didn't look back.

He may not fear any man, but that _thing_ was terrifying.

* * *

Mikhail woke up at a more decent time, feeling a little more refreshed. However, when he joined the other mercenaries, it seemed not everyone was as refreshed, and nor were they in a good mood.

Engineer was at the stove, grumbling about something as he flipped the bacon around in grease, shooting rather dirty looks at Kaspar, who was looking over notes, no doubt from last night's "observation". Beside the Texan, reading a magazine was Pyro, who didn't seem to care that Engineer was essentially killing Kaspar with his eyes every so often. Demoman was actually not drunk for once and instead was talking to Soldier, who was showing off his…was that a baby raccoon? Whatever, not the strangest thing Mikhail had seen from the wannabe Soldier. Scout was sitting on the couch, his body tense and tight over himself, arms crossed and frowning like he was a bad boy in time out. Mikhail wouldn't be surprised if that actually was the case. Sniper was in the kitchen making coffee. Spy was nowhere to be seen, but there was no cigarette smoke either.

Mikhail opted to sit at the table with Kaspar, who immediately made room for him.

" _Fascinating information, my friend."_ The German said in his native speech, flipping a page over. His handwriting was still atrocious. Mikhail nervously contemplated if he should respond in likeness in front of in essence the entire team. When he didn't respond right away, Kaspar stopped looking over his notes and turned to the burly Russian.

" _I'm sure there is no harm with you speaking to me in my language. After all, your nation took over half of mine*. It would not be odd if you could speak my language."_ Kaspar said. Mikhail blinked a few times in surprise at his words. While he knew Kaspar accepted the fact that he was pretending to be ignorant, he didn't think he would out rightly _support_ him. This was warming, and the Russian smiled a little

" _No, I suppose not…"_ he responded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the majority of the room stopped what they were doing and stared at the German speaking pair.

"You speak krout!?" Soldier cried in horror. Kaspar frowned at the usage of American slander upon his nationality, but did nothing except straighten his spectacles.

"Da. I speak German." Mikhail said. _And English, and Italian, and a small bit of French…_

"Trilingual?" Engineer asked.

"Nein, not quite. English is still being worked on." Kapsar lied for him. "But that will come in time, ja?"

Engineer frowned at him, apparently still mad at him. Mikhail had a suspicion that he knew Pyro had visited the the Medbay last night. The entire room sensed the tension between the two known Ph.D. men in the room, and it was obvious they were torn between taking sides. Who to choose; the good natured engineer's judgment, or the German Doctor who healed them in battle? Mikhail had already decided to remain neutral, but to the others, it was made clear he seemed to be on Medic's side.

A smell of burnt meat and a popping sound made engineer curse in his usual way and tear his gaze away from his opponent, getting the bacon off the stove and onto a plate with already finished fried eggs, pouring the grease over the two sources of protein, muttering a little. Kaspar went back to his notes and Mikhail was about to ask him what he found out last night that was so interesting, but Engineer's voice cut him off.

"Well, Stretch, sorry I burned them a little, but I hope that fits your definition of greasy, though I don't think Spy will appreciate this. I mean, he seems more of the fine cuisine sort of fella."

 _Spy? What- was_ Sniper _taking food to_ Spy _of all people!?_

"I appreciate the concern, Truckie, but a hung-over Spook is a pissed off Spook, and who do you think he is going to go after? Me, that's who." Sniper said, taking the plate and the pot of coffee into his hands. "I call this leverage for him not to bother the shit out of me today."

"If you think that will work." Engie accepted. Kaspar lifted his head and looked up at the retreating sniper.

"You say Herr Spy is having a hangover?" he asked the marksman. Said Bushman froze at the words directed at him and glanced nervously at him.

"Yeah…" he affirmed nervously.

"You know, greasy food has never been medically proven to cure a hangover. Nor coffee for that matter." Kaspar said. "I can prescribe a-"

"Oh, no thanks!" Sniper said quickly, cutting him off. "you – er- do so much anyway…"

Kaspar's eyes narrowed at the Australian but returned to his papers silently, a frown tugging at his lips. Sniper inched a little towards the door before hurrying out. Out of the corner of Mikhail's eye, he could vaguely see a small smirk on Engineer's face as the Texan turned back to the stove to clean up. Mikhail felt something prickle in his chest that wasn't exactly friendly, and tried to distract himself from that.

" _So what did you find out, Doctor?"_ He asked Kaspar. In an instant, the German was all smiles, turning back to the front of the pile of notes.

" _A great many things!"_ Medic proclaimed. He then proceeded to tell of the habitual things that he discovered from asking Pyro all sorts of personal information. While he didn't tell him Pyro's answers, he _did_ say what he found in their behavior and what probably caused it.

So far, Pyro suffered from schizophrenia, pyromania, motor control issues, ADHD, insomnia, and severe hematoma* around both eyes. They also had the mentality of an 8-year-old, and unable to feel the emotion of fear. Because of this mix of new and old information, Mikhail was starting to get nervous all over again of the possibility that Kaspar bit off more than he could chew. Perhaps Spy was right about Pyro…

" _Doctor, have you found out the purpose of Pyro's lobotomy?"_ Mikhail inquired, noticing that was a subject that Kaspar didn't seem to touch on.

" _No, I have unfortunately not."_ Kaspar admitted, a little disappointedly. _"It seems Pyro has no idea as well. I have heard of memory loss from shock therapy, but this seems a little beyond me. It may be the result of careless procedure from the doctor performing. If this is so, this Dr. Carl person seems to be even more of a careless_ moron _than any_ doctor _I've heard of."_

Mikhail had to chuckle at that, for this was smart talk for a man who lost his medical license.

" _I am sure you will figure it out."_ He comforted. Kaspar nodded, humming a little. He seemed to be partially distracted by something or another.

" _I want you there_." He said after a moment of thought. Mikhail raised an eyebrow.

" _What_?"

" _For the procedure on Pyro. I want you there."_ Kaspar explained.

" _I'm not sure what good that would do, or even what help I could be..."_ Mikhail responded nervously. He was still trying to figure out a way to stop him from going through this crazy idea, but that seemed to be harder than originally thought to be. He'd rather _not_ be there if it was to take place.

" _You would be a great help, trust me. Two pairs of hands can get more done than one. Also, I would prefer to have a witness of my triumph."_ Kaspar said, smiling encouragingly. Mikhail was disconcerted, because that smile would be his downfall. He opted to look at the table, a far less bewitching thing to stare at and sighed.

" _I will think on it. I am not trained and I still question the morality of this…"_ Mikhail admitted. " _What if the administrator will not think this as beneficial to the team? You will have to report this to her…so if she says that she didn't like it from the start and you go through with-"_

" _Enough. I know."_ Kaspar interrupted, shaking his head. _"But I am sure that the administrator would not be so cruel as to let Pyro's insanity continue if it can be fixed!"_

Mikhail sighed and nodded, though he did not agree. The administrator would very likely be the sort of person who would keep people at a disadvantage to have control over them, and more likely also keep people's traits for her benefit.

" _well…I think you should be sure. Ask her if that complies with her terms."_ Mikhail suggested.

" _I am not a dog to be commanded!"_ Kapsar hissed. _"I should not be forced to have permission to do what I want!"_

" _And yet, you are to her."_ Mikhail reasoned. _"Do you want to keep this job?"_

" _I have nowhere else to go."_ Kaspar admitted slowly, albeit embarrassedly.

" _Then keep your nose to the ground as they say and do as she says."_ Mikhail said. " _Besides, if she sees how good you are, she may be inclined to allow you an experiment as a reward system."_

That was a notion enough for Kaspar to smile excitedly.

"I cannot wait…" he said, switching back to English. Engineer glared once more.

Mikhail saw trouble ahead.

* * *

The next week when Mikhail was in battle, he could not help but notice how distracted he had become, and how his attention towards battle was always turned back towards Kaspar and Engineer. This resulted in him being killed easily by the BLU team. The opposing team took advantage of his distracted mind and found it quite agreeable to have their enemy of such large size and power, crippled by his own conscience.

His _own_ team, however, had a very different sort of opinion of the Russian. If one was Scout, Spy, or Soldier, they would be quick to remind Heavy of his duties to the team, though each having their own tactics of doing so. If one was a Demoman, Sniper, or Pyro, each would be indifferent to the situation, but rather irked by how his ability had taken a nosedive. If one was Engineer, one wore his disappointment for both his performance (or lack thereof) and his choice of friendship on his shoulder, and upheld a certain coldness that was not missed by anyone.

If one was Medic, however, the utmost concern was shown. So much so, he practically begged to cut him open and find the source of his distraction, believing it to be a physical matter. Mikhail, at long last, allowed him to do so, as long as Kaspar didn't destroy any more of his vital organs.

As Mikhail watched his companion on and off the battlefield move his hands through his insides with the greatest reverence, he decided to end his silence.

"I fear the worst has yet to come." He admitted quietly. Kaspar looked over at his face with concern.

"What?" he inquired.

"This entire business of you versus the engineer…" Mikhail said quietly. Kaspar rolled his eyes.

"Why should that be any concern?"

"It is because of your _lack_ of concern, that I am worried." Mikhail poked.

"If I were to worry, mein freund," Kaspar responded, smiling slightly. "Perhaps my consciousness in the field will drop as yours has, and the administrator will not be pleased. Medics are hard to come by in this profession and I was told I am the only one on their list of first rate candidates. And Helen does not like backup mercenaries."

"And you know this because…" Mikhail pressed.

"She made a snide comment once that I had better not displease her, for she might decide to strand me back in the place I avoid more than anywhere else."

"And that would be…"

"Germany itself." Kaspar sighed, removing his hands and leaning against the operating table. "Yes, there are places very fine in my nation, but the overall memories each place has of my family…and all of our friends and relations…." He trailed off, letting the obvious be pieced together in silence. Mikhail nodded.

"Either way, I believe you _should_ be worried." He said. "how can we operate with a team divided? Forget my inability to fight. What about the team?"

"you believe this is a _team?_ " Kaspar scoffed. "what on earth has made you even _consider_ this a _team?_ Name something personal about another teammate that isn't me." He challenged.

"Demoman took the sciences in numerous schools because he kept on getting expelled. Engineer has 11 PhDs in hard science. Scout has seven older brothers with one dead and the other tiny BLU Scout. Sniper has been bullied his entire life about his form and how it does not follow Australian standards and shuts himself out to Spy, who cares more than anyone else on this team, but hides it to obtain the reputation of being aloof and indifferent. Soldier has not one, but _twelve_ raccoons living with him and had a roommate whom he _claims_ is a wizard named Merasmus. Pyro has been hurt by multiple doctors who have claimed to have tried to help them, and doesn't trust anyone _except_ Engineer." Mikhail listed without missing a beat.

Kaspar was stunned into silence. He sighed and shook his head.

"That does not make us a team. Not even close. You, my meticulously observant friend, are mistaken."

"Regardless, this feud doesn't bring anyone together. It only builds the schism."

"And you suggest _what_ to fix this, hm?" Kaspar inquired. Mikhail reached up to grab the medigun that was suspended over his head, when Kaspar stopped him. He did it himself and resealed the Russian good as new once more.

"You stop this project with the pyro. They are obviously close with Engineer, and it may be better that Pyro is left _alone."_ Mikhail said, watching Kaspar wash his hands at the deep sink. Kaspar made no response until he was finished.

"Mikhail. I will not shy away from a project just because it is not of popular opinion." Kaspar said stubbornly, turning back and approaching. Mikhail sat up and placed a hand over his now healed chest, his hand marveling the work of the machine.

"Don't you see that this is doing more harm than help? This is getting out of hand, Kaspar. It may not be long before _someone_ snaps." Mikhail was on the verge of pleading with the man. Kaspar, though stubborn and determined as he was, saw his distress.

"I have not asked the administrator her opinion of the matter…perhaps we can come to a compromise?" he offered. Mikhail motioned for him to continue.

"If Helen does not approve, my plans cease where they are at. If she gives me permission to continue, then I go through business as usual."

Mikhail mulled it over within his mind and allowed that as a fair assessment and agreed to it. upon his approval, Kapsar wasted no time to make a video call with the administrator. The Russian tried to remain collected and not seem nervous. He had heard a many great things about the administrator and dearly hoped that she did not live to her reputation of being a cold dictator.

The screen turned black for a moment before it connected to the other side, revealing an older woman in purple. She sat up with the dangerous elegance of a cobra, no doubt hiding a venomous bite just under the surface of those cold eyes she gave Medic. She was shrouded in a cloud of smoke, the source hanging daintily within her fingertips. Lips pursed, slightly wrinkled face with makeup perfectly in line, and purple clothing all matched the description of a woman in confidence that she held all the power and might in the world.

And Mikhail did not doubt it for a second.

He noticed how Kaspar changed his stance almost immediately after the screen switched to the connected image, standing straighter and with his shoulders back as if he were in the military.

"Good evening, Frau Administrator. I trust you have had a good day?"

"Save the pleasantries, Rothmann, I know you and I are beyond that unless you want something." The woman stated, her slightly raspy voice only further confirming her bad habit of smoking. Otherwise, she sounded authoritative and demeaning. Kaspar chuckled, shaking his head.

"I admit; you know my patterns far better than anyone else."

"And the flattery means you know I won't like what you have to ask." She added amusedly, tapping her cancer stick against the ashtray side to rid it of the excess tobacco. "Report and state your request."

"Ja, Frau Administrator." Kaspar responded, taking off his spectacles and wiping them off on his vest corner. "No changes of medical means in the team as a whole. Mentally, there is tension."

"Yes, I have noticed in the battle footage. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to report it." she said, a threat hanging off the end. Kaspar chuckled once more, sounding like he was not afraid of her in the slightest.

"Well, I prefer to find out if anyone else notices before I believe it something _worth_ reporting."

"Hardly an excuse."

"I will keep this in mind if anything else arises, I assure you."

"You had better…and what of your heavy weapons specialist standing behind you?"

Mikhail felt his blood freeze cold as her eyes stared right at him. He instinctually stood up straighter, but didn't meet her eyes.

"Heavy? What about him?"

"His performance is disappointing as of the past week. I am beginning to doubt his ability to do his job…I wonder if it has something to do with him bearing no contact with his mother and three younger sisters…"

Mikhail bit his lip but otherwise said nothing.

"Or perhaps it is an issue more close at hand…"

Mikhail closed his eyes in defeat. Before he could say anything, Kaspar stepped in.

"Frau Administrator, Helen, this is a matter that correlates with my inquiry. Mik-Heavy is merely concerned and also the one who was the second opinion I wanted to report the tension." He said quickly, and Mikhail didn't miss the slight apprehension in his voice. "One word from you shall resolve any problems that may arise."

The administrator narrowed her eyes.

"Continue…" she dared.

"I have been for the past week observing Pyro and…the tendencies that…"

 _Why was he struggling with Pyro's pronouns?_

"Should I leave, Doktor?" Mikhail asked, wondering if it was because he was there.

"Please." Kaspar responded almost instantly. Mikhail left without a word, though he gave a curt nod to the woman of power out of respect. She didn't respond nor look at him, instead glaring at Kaspar.

Outside in the hall, Mikhail paced impatiently.

What if she said yes? That would surely cause problems for everyone. Engineer, though Kaspar would obtain clearance, would not stand for it. Yes, he was good natured and yes he was patient with even the most trying of times with the teammates, but if someone took that for granted…well, no one had to be told that Engineer could be nasty. He took a wrench to that BLU Spy if Pyro didn't incinerate him first.

He only prayed, for the team's sake, that the administrator denied him.

Suddenly, without warning, Kaspar threw open the doors to the infirmary and ran past Mikhail. Mikhail was about to call out to him when he noticed what was in his hand.

A syringe full of liquid.

Mikhail felt sick with horror as he realized what he was going to do and ran after the German however, by the time he caught up to him (curse his slower speed) Kaspar was dragging Pyro out of a side room and attempting to throw them over his shoulder.

" _Kaspar! I know we agreed on this, but this has gone far enough!"_ Mikhail hissed in German, trying to keep his voice down, as of they were in the dorm hall, and most mercenaries were sleeping.

" _In and out in and out, Mikhail, that is what you are being!"_ Kaspar spat back likewise _. "Decide what the fuck you want and go with it!"_

" _I will not help you."_ Mikhail stated. _"But I will make sure that you are not hurt."_

" _Fine. Just keep it down!"_ He growled, getting the firebug over his shoulders and running back to the Medbay. Mikhail struggled to keep up, but entered the infirmary shortly after Kaspar beat him to it. by that time, Kaspar was hurriedly strapping Pyro in the leather restraints, going as tightly as possible.

"I cannot believe this. I cannot believe she is letting you do this." Mikhail muttered, pacing nervously back and forth.

"This must be done quickly. The anesthetic will wear off in four minutes." Kaspar said, moving fast. With one swift motion, he yanked off Pyro's mask without a care and snatched a large syringe off a side table.

"Mikhail. Hold the head steady." Kaspar demanded.

"Doktor, I said I was not going-"

"Fine, don't!" Kaspar snapped angrily. "But this will be excruciating for my patient if you do not!"

Mikhail's good nature and heart gave in for the Pyro's sake, regardless for his fear of the smaller person. He approached quickly and looked at pyro for the first time, unsure what he was expecting to see. A monster? A demon?

He got a…well…person.

The face was young to be sure with a button nose and slightly rounded cheeks, but it was also fair skinned. So pale, it was sickly. Both eyes were covered and surrounded by thick black bruises that greatly resembled a raccoon, but unnaturally so. Pyro's hair, a slight bronze fuzz was cut short to the scalp with a strong widow's peak upon the forehead. The eyelashes were longer and had the same color as the fuzzy shaved hair.

He still could not tell the gender.

Kaspar lifted an eyelid and Mikhail caught a glimpse of a gold iris. Not yellow. Gold. Kaspar took up the syringe and the Russian looked away, not able to handle what was happening.

"A reverse lobotomy?" he dared ask.

"Rather simple, I know, but this will work." Kaspar responded, pushing the plunger hallway before moving to the other eye. "This is a special formula of my medifluid. Its more concentrated."

"Any side effects?" Mikhail managed out, wanting to throw up. Guilt and nausea clawed at his stomach.

 _God help me…_

"No idea." Kaspar shrugged.

 _God forgive me…_

When Kaspar removed the syringe, now empty, the medifluid's vapor started to flow out of the nose and slightly open mouth, making Kaspar smile. Not in a good natured way. The same way he did when the übercharge was proven to work.

"It is working, mein freund!" he exclaimed excitedly. Mikhail could not hold it back any longer. As discreetly as he could manage, he let go of Pyro's head and rushed to the deep sink, regurgitating the contents of his stomach violently. Kaspar's face turned to concern immediately, test subject forgotten.

"Mikhail, are you alright?" he cried, worry written all over his face. He placed a hand on the larger man's shoulder, only to have said man swing his arm around to catch his wrist and push it as far away as possible.

" _Don't touch me…"_ he growled in Russian, the words spiteful on his tongue. Kaspar looked as if he had been smacked in the face at the tone, though he did not know what Mikhail had said.

A groan interrupted the moment and both men turned their heads to see pyro stirring, sitting up slowly and clutching their head, eyes tightly shut and grit teeth. Kaspar looked back and forth between Mikhail and Pyro a few times before moving to his friend, but was met with a frigid scowl that warned him he was not in any humor for the German to approach. Kaspar retreated and opted to go to his test subject instead.

"Pyro." he said, walking to the other and standing before them.

"Hurts…" came the whimpered reply. Higher pitched and breathy. Mikhail still couldn't rightly tell. He wanted to step in and get the German away from the small childlike mercenary, but his nausea came back and made him clutch the sink for support.

"I know it hurts, Pyro…I know…it'll be over soon, do not worry." Kaspar said softly, encouragingly. He was kind and caring in an instant, the act now up in full swing. Mikhail was disgusted.

Pyro shook their head in distress and made a weak sound of pain, a mixture between a whine and a groan.

"Hurts…"

"Ja, I know…" Kaspar cooed, casually pulling out a lighter from his back pocket. Pyro opened their eyes slightly. Mikhail could tell by the shape that they were doe like and innocent, and turned so when they saw the lighter.

"Rainbows?" Pyro whispered hopefully. Mikhail felt a twist in his stomach, realizing that Pyro didn't know what they were doing. Pyro didn't see fire. Pyro saw rainbows. Pyro had schizophrenia. Pyro didn't know they were hurting people…did they?

Wordlessly, Kaspar flicked open the lighter and lit it up, a small flame making itself known. Pyro smiled for a half second before turning confused.

"But…that's not…" they whispered, their eyes narrowing. There was a moment of silence as both known men stared at the young pyromaniac, watching the emotions flash across the pale sickly face.

Confusion. Doubt. Curious. Pensive. Recognition.

 _Fear._

Pyro's eyes widened as far as they would go and leapt back, sliding off the operating table with a scream, scrambling to get away. Kaspar could not contain his laughter as he closed the flame away, smiling from ear to ear in victory.

"I have done it! I have reversed the effects completely!" he cried in excitement. "this is a great breakthrough indeed! I-"

"Liar!" came a yell, stopping Kaspar from his rambling and both turned to Pyro, who clutched the counter, gloved hand over their eyes, teeth once more gritted. Water leaked from between Pyro's fingers and ran down their cheeks. They were crying.

"You liar! Both of you! You said you would help me!" Pyro cried, removing their hand and staring at Kaspar in misery. "He said you were not a monster! You both are liars!"

"I _did_ help you!" Kaspar countered. "I gave you what you lost! Your brain is as it was before the lobotomy! I mean, no, you still have to relearn basic skills, bit otherwise you are intact!" he said with glee. Pyro looked pained by his words and shook their head violently.

"They said I forgot everything, and that I was blind! I really was blind! I didn't know-I didn't know-"

"Ja ja, you didn't know rainbows were fire." Kaspar interrupted, disinterestedly.

"I did not know you would take away _everything_!" Pyro screamed, collapsing against the counter, sobbing. Mikhail gulped and forced his nausea and guilt back. And was about to speak when Pyro cut him off.

"If I can't do my job, she will send me back! Send me back that grey place with locked rooms! I'll never see colors, taste sweets, go outside, have friends, or be with Dell _ever again!"_

 _Dell? Who was this Dell?_

"I did everything she said so I could be with him every day! You…you took that away from me! You liar! You never wanted to help me for me! You are just like Dr. Carl, Frosier, and every one of those doctors and nurses! _Liars_ , every one of you! You _used me!"_

Mikhail had never been so ashamed in his life. How foolish…how stupid he was! He never should've let Pyro to Kaspar. This was all his fault…

Kaspar's expression was cold before he sighed and picked up his bone saw.

"You wish for me to…revert you?" he asked. "I _was_ planning on doing so anyway."

Pyro moved back, clutching the counter for dear life as fear was written all over their face and body language.

"It's a really simple thing, you see…respawn updates a person's profile every 24 hours exactly at midnight…seeing as it is 11:18… there is still time for respawn to wipe your system clean…"

Mikhail saw what he was going to do too late. Before he could even think of leaping to Pyro's rescue, Kaspar lunged and grabbed Pyro's collar, pulling them in to meet his blade halfway as it sank into their stomach, sticking out on the other end. Pyro's mouth opened in a silent scream, choking on the blood that came up and slightly coughing on it. The German then pulled it out of the dying body and let them fall onto the floor, blood pooling around Pyro's form and slowly flowing down the drain in the floor.

"I can see why Helen denied my request. Your insanity _is_ your benefit..." Kaspar said to the choking mercenary on the floor, looking straight into the fading gold eyes. "I am many things, Frauline…but a liar is not one of them."

* * *

* After WWII, Germany was split into four sections under the governing of the US, Britain, France, and The Soviet Union. In 1949, the three sections that were controlled by the US, Britain, and France were given back to the German people as one united territory named The Federal Republic of Germany, though still overseen by the three nations previously in contYol so no political party would gain more control than another. In the same year, the Soviet Union zone of Germany was renamed The German Democratic Republic (GDR). These two sections were also known in short as Western and Eastern Germany, respectively. However, the governments of each section greatly opposed one another due to NATO and the Warsaw Pact. While Western Germany upheld a democratic government, Eastern Germany was established as a Stalin-style Socialist state, and controlled by the Soviets. Most famously involving the GDR, was the wall that separated Eastern and Western Berlin.

* Hematoma is a solid swelling of clotted blood under the tissue. If severe enough, it may require draining. Most common hematoma that people know of is a black eye, but they usually fade within one or two weeks.

* * *

 ** _Ch 11 Sneak Peek:_**

"You and him fought? This is new." The Texan said, crossing his arms.

"Da, last night." Mikhail responded.

"About?"

Mikhail's eyes glanced over to the other mercenary.

"…Pyro." He admitted.

Said firebug seemed to stand straighter. They- _she_ probably was not paying attention at first. Engineer looked between the two people before placing his hand on the taller firebug's shoulder.

"Buddy, I think there's a box of cookies on the top shelf of the pantry. Why don't you go get a couple?"

"Hurdda?" Pyro questioned.

"Two." Engineer specified

"Huddah!" the other chirped happily.

Pyro skipped away with a spring in their- _her_ step. If a mask could smile, Pyro pulled it off. No, Pyro certainly did not remember last night.


	11. The Breaking Point

Mikhail stared at the spot where Pyro's body just was. It had taken him almost ten minutes to process the fact that Medic had called Pyro "frauline". Pyro was a woman. A girl. A девушка…

By the time he had realized and took in his words, Pyro had already gone though respawn. Mikhail struggled to keep his countenance in line as multiple emotions gurgled in his stomach.

Sadness, guilt, fear…but most of all, _anger_. He was _infuriated_. He was in absolute fury, so much so, his hands shook and his lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

"Another successful procedure, I daresay!" Mikhail heard Kaspar say across the Medbay. He jerked his head to stare at the German, who was busy taking notes by his desk and not paying attention to the emotionally collapsing Russian in the room with him.

" _Psychopath_ …" Mikhail growled. The German stopped writing and slowly turned around to face the Heavy.

"What?" he asked in shock. "I…forgive me." He started to laugh a little. "It almost sounded like you called me a psychopath…"

"I did." Mikhail spat. Hurt flashed against Kaspar's face.

"W-what…Mikhail, what is the-"

"We have done wrong, and you treat it with triviality!" Mikhail hissed.

"Oh don't be so dramatic." Medic scoffed, chuckling a little. "Pyro will respawn and she will be back to her normal self again."

"Do you not see the severity of the situation!?" Mikhail burst out angrily. "Pyro will surely go to Engineer about this and he will not sit by and let this happen without retribution, don't you think he will not!"

"Pyro will not remember any of this. It is not within her stupid brain's capacity. I know because I have studied her brain." Medic said carelessly. Mikhail had enough. He stomped over to the German and smacked the clipboard out of his hands, shoving the older man against the wall with a snarl and holding him there by his upper arms. Fear was suddenly in Medic's blue eyes and all carelessness was wiped away.

"Mikhail, what has gotten into you!?" he cried in shock.

"What has gotten into _me!?_ " Mikhail snapped. " _Common sense!_ Here I was, believing that you would never go through with this, that somehow I thought you had better morals than to hurt an innocent child! And yet, it seems I was gravely mistaken! I was mistaken about your very character! I believed you to be sensible and sane!"

Silence between them.

"A-and now?" the elder asked with a weak voice.

"I am ashamed to ever have thought you as my friend. You went back on our agreement, you hurt Pyro, you lied to Pyro, you lied to _me,_ and you expect me to _rejoice_ for my stupidity!?"

"I never lied!" Medic cried. "I said I would go as far as my plans went!"

"You lied through deception!" Mikhail countered viciously. "That is a cheap trick for selfish people like yourself! And you believe me to be one to simply forget that in an instant and share your despicable victory!? You can celebrate it alone, because I am ashamed of myself and what I felt to you!"

Medic's eyes widened in shock and he looked up at him pleadingly.

"Mikhail…what did you feel for me?" he weakly asked.

"Only admiration of the acutest kind under false pretenses! It seems Pyro was not the only one blinded by your charm! It seems my ability to choose friends is lacking." With that said, Mikhail dropped the German, who slid down the tiled wall partially before catching himself. The Russian wasted no time to turn on his heel and walk towards the door, having no intention of coming back.

"Mikhail! Mikhail please!" Medic called out, standing up straight and running after him. He managed to grab Mikhail's arm, but that same arm was yanked away as he stopped and glowered murderously at the German over his shoulder.

"You have no right to call me that, Medic. You lost that right." And with that, he shoved the medic back and walked out of the Medbay, a scowl on his face and anger burning in the pit of his stomach.

As he walked though the halls of the fort, he slowed down as his anger simmered from rage, to frustration, to sadness. Once he reached his room, he went to a slow trudge, feeling his eyes burn. No, no he was not going to feel anything over this. That man is not worth his emotions, his hopes, his name, his language, his love…he isn't. He slowly reached for his door handle, and as soon as his hand was upon it, he heard someone cough. Mikhail paused and glanced over his shoulder.

He was half expecting Spy, but instead was faced with _Scout_.

"You…uh…ok, big guy?" the small Bostonian asked.

"Why you care?" Mikhail growled. Scout took a step back.

"I…I heard you yelling stuff." He said. "Woke me up."

Mikhail's eyes narrowed.

"I-I didn't hear nuthin!" Scout assured quickly. "I was just wondering if…you and Medic are…well…"

"We have fight. That all." He said stiffly.

"So you two aren't together anymore?" Scout asked. Mikhail froze and was about to get angry and deny it all but instead he sighed, exhausted by the entire affair.

"Was I obvious?" Mikhail murmured.

"Absolutely." Scout said. "Man, I was so sure you two were together. Positive."

"Nyet…" Mikhail turned and fully looked at the smaller mercenary. "We not. We never."

"Never? Aw jeez…well, at least I didn't take bets, eh?" he chuckled but then saw the Heavy's stoic face.

"I mean…uh…why not?" Scout tried again.

"He not feel that way." Mikhail said. "And I fool. He not who I thought."

Scout frowned and cross his arms.

"Ok, I don't know anything about what you thought Doc was, but I can tell ya for sure that Doc is head over heels about ya. I mean he is like a puppy in love. You get me?"

"Nyet, he not." Mikhail said, not wanting to believe it for a second. He wished the German to not think of him and willed his common sense to not see the affection Medic showed him these few weeks. "He and I friends. Were."

"Oh…well, uh…you think you can uh…get back together? As friends I mean?"

"Nyet." Mikhail said decisively. "I do not want."

"Oh…ok…I mean, if that will make you happy, I mean…"

"You not say word. No one. Understand?" Mikhail warned.

"Yeah, sure." Scout said, giving him a thumbs up. "Lips are locked and sealed tight."

"You better. Or I crush baby man with fists." Mikhail threatened. Scout nodded vigorously, before walking to his own room, three doors to the right. The Russian sighed and entered his room and sat on his bed, stripping his clothes off him slowly, as each layer exposed more and more flesh, he became more and more vulnerable, and the tears threatened more and more. By the time he was pulling on his pajamas, they were streaming down his cheeks freely.

More than ever, he wished for his mama and his sisters, and their love. He wanted _home._

* * *

The next morning, Mikhail felt guilt gnaw at the pit of his stomach, making him feel sick. Not guilt that he left the German. Oh no, that anger was still there. It was the guilt that he had led Pyro unwittingly to Kaspar and caused them… _her_ so much pain.

He really was going to have to get used to that. Obviously secrecy was in order. No matter. Just add it to the list of things he had to keep quiet about. Pyro was yet another secret. A secret he never wanted to know.

Engineer called her a him. Mikhail wondered if he did that to their- _her_ face. It seemed that Pyro either didn't care or was sworn to secrecy as well. Regardless, something had to be done about this. He could not just sit there and let Medic believe he was in the right. Would he ever see the error of his ways?

Not that…he cared. No, not at all.

Mikhail entered the rec room and the first thing he noticed was the fact that sniper and spy were sitting very _very_ close to each other, speaking in hushed tones. Mikhail, though he vowed he would not listen in again…did it anyway.

"Maybe you should let off your damn pompous act and talk to him as an equal!"

"…It is for his protection that I am the way I am. I have never once given any hint that he is mine, and that has kept him safe for all these years."

"He don't understand that! Family is at home. Not abroad killing people for millions. That's how he thinks!"

"I never _truly_ left…I…came back every chance and opportunity…"

"Oh? _When_?"

"I watched over him from afar every break in between jobs. I took less work once he was born so I could keep an eye on him. Ironically enough, even with how trying my job is, I never missed a school play or event he was in. Even when he was in high school running or playing baseball. And when his brother died."

"Have you even _hugged_ him? My dad hugged me maybe _once_ in my life, and that was when I decided to join the futbol team! You think a kid ever forgets that kinda emptiness?"

"I _have_ , you-" Here Spy gave a sigh to stop himself from getting angry. "I had more opportunities to do so when he was small. When he reached an older age, that changed."

"Jesus spook, why didn't you up and tell the poor kid?"

"Think, Mick! If I were to tell him that am his f-"

Here Mikhail stopped listening. He turned around and left as silently as he came. He felt he head heard too much.

Engineer, his target, was not there. The next place to look would be his workshop. Engineer practically lived in that garage, and it was an overall truth that if anyone had any mental breakdown, Engineer's door was always open.

And he lived to that overall truth, for the door was wide open. It didn't help that it was so dry and hot today, and the air-conditioning probably did not reach the garage. Of course the door would be open. Mikhail knocked anyway.

"Yeah?" he heard the familiar Texan's call from across the room. Mikhail felt his stomach drop at the sound but refused to be deterred by his nervous conscience.

"We talk?" he asked. There was silence for a moment before there was a clang and footsteps. Engineer walked out around a corner, Pyro on his heels. At the sight of the firebug, flashes of the crying and blood-soaked child flashed across his vision, but he pushed that away as quickly as he could.

Pyro wasn't attacking him, and they- _she_ did not give any inclination of disliking him. Did Pyro really not remember? No matter, he had to say this.

"Not with the so called doc, huh?" Engineer said, his mocking tone like a knife to Mikhail's chest.

"Engineer, we talk. Medic and I fight." He said, his tone almost begging to be heard out. Engineer's eyes narrowed from behind his goggles, and he took them off his face to regard him better.

"You and him fought? This is new." The Texan said, crossing his arms.

"Da, last night." Mikhail responded.

"About?"

Mikhail's eyes glanced over to the other mercenary.

"…Pyro." He admitted.

Said firebug seemed to stand straighter. They- _she_ probably was not paying attention at first. Engineer looked between the two people before placing his hand on the taller firebug's shoulder.

"Buddy, I think there's a box of cookies on the top shelf of the pantry. Why don't you go get a couple?"

"hurdda?" Pyro questioned.

"Two." Engineer specified

"huddah!" the other chirped happily.

Pyro skipped away with a spring in their- _her_ step. If a mask could smile, Pyro pulled it off. No, Pyro certainly did not remember last night.

Once Engineer's companion disappeared, Mikhail sighed and walked a little around the garage, inspecting the space. It was clean overall, but the organization was a little off. Or at least it seemed that way to the Russian, for he wasn't an engineer. Engineer himself was in his work clothes, though his goggles were hung around his neck.

"Pyro came to my room around 11:30 last night. He said he went though respawn. I checked the system and sure enough, Pyro did. Though not at the time Pyro last remembers. You wanna tell me what happened?" Engineer asked, speaking as though he were talking to a child that was naughty. Mikhail's eyes narrowed as he looked directly at the laborer.

"I may have hard time speaking, but I not baby. We both adult." He warned. Engineer nodded stiffly, though his gaze did not soften. Mikhail took this as recognition enough.

"Medic drug Pyro. Then did test. Then kill Pyro. Respawn take away test. Pyro not remember." He said, nervously awaiting the engineer's reaction.

Said Texan's features went from shock, to disbelief, to anger with every word that was said by the larger man. When Mikhail finished, he took off his hardhat and tossed it onto the workbench.

"Hell…" he murmured, wiping a hand over his face.

"I made deal with Medic. He promise one thing. I thought I knew promise. He change it. He lie." Mikhail continued. "He and I not friend."

At that, the Texan looked back at the Russian in slight defeat.

"I'm sorry, tough guy. I mean, yeah, I sort of wished you would see how he was instead of looking at what you wanted-"

"Da, is my fault. But not problem. Problem is the test work. Pyro fixed."

"But…Pyro ain't any different. You said Doc reversed the effects though respawn."

"Da. But I see Pyro fixed. Pyro say know man name Dell. Why came here. Why work for administrator. Said Dell why came here."

Engineer's eyes widened as he regarded Mikhail. His gaze slowly went in the direction of where said pyro had gone. He shook his head and went to the back of the shop, picking up his toolbox as he did so. He began building a sentry from memory, muttering to himself as Mikhail approached.

"I know all of y'all say that I'm a good natured man, and you probably all think I have that reputation back at home. You'd be about half right. Truth is, there ain't anyone I know of who would try to find or follow me." Engineer admitted, standing up once the sentry came to life. He scratched the back of his head and placed his hand on the sentry's metal turret.

"You name Dell?" Mikhail asked.

"Yeah, that's me." The man now named Dell affirmed. "But as I said, no one would care enough to follow me here. See, any friends I had back where I am from aren't my buds anymore."

"No one? No one ever try?"

"No one really cared to know me, you know? Family was considered crazy, and I was always busy." Dell explained before pausing, "well…alright, there was this one person who really tried to know me. Been dead since 67. Wasn't normal by any standards."

"No?"

"Nah. It was a patient at this Psychiatric hospital. Thought it was kind of shady when I first went there. I was a part of this maintenance company to get me through school and my last PhD. That place's air-conditioning was always fickle."

"What happen?"

"Well, see that was usually why I went there. Because the air would break. Let me tell you, when it broke, it made _everyone_ miserable. And the doc who ran that place, he was a nasty piece of work when he was irritable. So I always tried my best to fix it for good with what I got. But it was just so out of date that it just _broke_ all the time. The doc would normally show me where the problem probably was, but there was this one time he wasn't there, ya know? I was cleared to enter, but he wasn't waiting for me. Guess I was early." Here, Dell sighed and chuckled a little.

"Actually, its funny, because in all the time I worked at that place, I never once saw a patient. It was practically dead when I went there. Not sure why. But that day, I saw my first one. About my age, height, but damn, looked like she hadn't eaten or slept in years. I was scared to be honest. I only ever heard of psychopathic crazy people. But she was just an innocent little thing. Acted about 6 years old, I think. "

"Say want know you?"

"Yeah. The air used to break once every two or three months. After I met her, it broke every week. And it always broke in the same place. Same quick fix." He nodded and gave a little playful smile that one gave when thinking of something amusing. "Now, I'm no detective, but I am almost 100 percent sure that was her doing, because she was always at the door waiting for me when I got there, and Doc had to take care of a patient having a fit. When I asked her where he was, she would just get this look that made you think there was more going on in that head of hers than you originally thought. I bet she was pulling the strings, and was doing it like a pro."

He then frowned and sighed.

"I graduated and got my last PhD and quit my job. But before I left the company, I was told I had to go back there one last time. So out of my own paycheck, I bought new parts for the air-conditioning so it wouldn't break the same again. I had every intention to say I wasn't coming back, but…well, when push came to shove, I just couldn't do it. I fixed it for good so she wouldn't be able to break something to get me come, only for some new guy to go in there. I just didn't want anyone hurt. About two weeks later, I got a job at an oil company in a rig across state. As I was packing, I saw on the local news that the hospital had caught fire, and everyone was dead."

He shook he head sadly and looked out the window of the garage, partially lost in thought.

"Caught _fire_?" Mikhail asked, stressing the last word for the engineer.

"Happens all the time in Texas if it's dry enough. "'Sides, everyone was killed." Engineer disregarded. Mikhail frowned. He just wasn't connecting the dots. Then he remembered the names Pyro mentioned.

"Doktor who run hospital…name Doktor Karl? Frosier?" he asked. Engineer's head whirled around to stare at Mikhail in shock.

"I…Yeah, that was Dr. Carl…Frosier was some loon who thought he could explain psychology and cure it through hypnosis or some dumb shit like that. Read it in some science magazine about his death. Apparently he was killed by ar-…arson…"

The moment it clicked in Engineer's mind was clear across his face. In this new realization, he dropped his wrench. It clanged to the floor loudly, but it only seemed to be magnified by the shocked silence between the two men. There were footsteps and both turned to see Pyro return to the garage. The now identified mercenary looked at the wrench on the floor curiously and picked it up, offering it to Engineer.

Engineer just stared at the pyro, and Mikhail could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"erngih?" Pyro mumbled, sounding a little concerned.

"Mumbles, you…you still want me to build that robot unicorn to fly you away?"

Pyro took a step back and the body language was displaying large amounts of shock. It was short lived however, when Pyro jumped Engineer into a massive hug, letting out a stream of excited mumbles. Engineer managed to keep his footing, though the taller firebug nearly knocked him over. When he hugged his partner, he glanced over Pyro's shoulder to give a thumbs up to Mikhail.

"Much obliged, son…" he said. Mikhail nodded, but felt hollow at the scene before him.

Seeing the pair together and reunited after years of separation, and upholding a partnership on and off the battlefield; it only reminded him of what he once had. Any satisfaction of telling Engineer what happened the night before was gone in an instant. He merely took his leave and tried to forget any affection he had, and convince himself he didn't feel anything.

Even though his chest was splitting in two.

* * *

Sleeping the night before battle was impossible. He felt anxious and restless. He would have to work with this man. All weekend, he had successfully avoided him at every twist and turn. Instead of him remaining in his Medbay, the cursed medic kept on popping up everywhere he showed up.

The rec room, the hayloft, respawn, the targeting range, _the showers._

Mikhail knew Medic was trying to say something to him, for he attempted to speak to him every time. However, Mikhail cut him off with a cold shoulder and occasionally a harsh word in Russian. Was it low for him to do so? Perhaps. But fact remained: he had to stay away from him. Mikhail knew that Medic bewitched him enough over their entire time together to make him want to come back. He very much desperately wanted to not adore the man with no regard for life, and despise the very thought of said German. But it seemed that no matter how he tried, he remained attached emotionally to him. He had cared too much. Listened too much. Shared too much. Loved too much.

Love may have been an extreme thing to call what he felt with only a few weeks to support his claim, but he honestly could not think of any other emotional candidates. It was just simply too unique and painful.

When he was around him, he felt this acute sensation of pure sense of belonging and responsibility. The mere presence of the German made him at ease and full of light. His touch made his senses feel like he was on fire, but in an absolutely breathtaking way. No matter the circumstance, he had captivated him, and made him feel things he could not describe in any language.

This separation with him was nearly unbearable. The pain in his very center was agonizingly slow, draining his body's energy as if he were bleeding out. He felt lethargic, slow, and dark. There was no motivation and no will to even try and sleep anymore. Each beat of his heart only reminded him of the day they had met, and their first collaboration. Each pump the large muscled organ gave, Mikhail thought of how Medic had given it to him, enhanced him, made him stronger…Mikhail may have been his human shield, but Kaspar was the protector of his heart.

The dreaded morning came, and Mikhail found himself unable to get out of bed. He held no will, no desire, any, not even any inclination to get up. He didn't even wish to breathe anymore. What did he want? He wanted things as they were before. He wanted to be so sweetly ignorant of the nature of his past companion, and have all that was before.

As it turned out, Soldier was having none of that, and it took four tries to get him out of bed ("America the Beautiful" played by bugle in the ear was enough to make _anyone_ get out of bed). He didn't stop there, either. Oh no, that was far too easy. Soldier, the ever-exuberant man he was, barked, yelled, and forced the broad Russian into the rec room, where most of the team sat. The only ones absent were Medic (which he was thankful for) and Scout, who Soldier claimed he was going to fetch next.

Engineer and Pyro were in the kitchen, Pyro holding a plate while the laborer piled food onto it. Sniper was slouched against the armchair back with a coffee loosely held in his hand, looking absolutely dead. Spy, on the couch, mirrored him exactly with the coffee replaced with a cigarette. Instead of Spy's feet being propped up by the coffee table, they were placed on the passed out Demoman, who was drooling in his sleep on the floor.

"Sleep ok, tough guy?" Engineer asked.

"Sure." Mikhail muttered, sitting at the table tiredly, running a hand over his eyes. If anyone noticed his sarcasm, no one commented. Scout was soon carried in by his shirt collar, out of uniform and in his pajamas, bleary eyed with massive bed head even though he had a buzz cut hair. He was tossed into a chair and yelled at by Soldier to get out of "Pyroland" and into the real world.

Pyro gave an indignant "harrumph!" to which Engineer chuckled at and patted his companion on the shoulder, easing the firebug's displeasure.

Scout lifted his head and stared at Mikhail who was directly across from him. The exhausted Bostonian still had a line of drool on his face that ran across his cheek and towards his ear. His eyes were unfocused and bloodshot, the eyelids drooping over his grey blue irises.

"How it going there?" he muttered tiredly.

"Goes." Mikhail grumbled.

"Hrm." Scout responded, closing his eyes and letting his head fall on the table. Mikhail saw out of the corner of his eye Spy, who was looking at Scout with a half amused face. He almost thought the masked man would give comment, but instead he remained silent. Sniper was watching also, but his eyes were more focused on the Spy's reaction.

Mikhail's mind flashed to their hushed conversation on Saturday. And the pit of his stomach dropped.

 _No. There…there's absolutely no resemblance. None._

He in vain tried to pretend his mind was not full of questions and theories, so much so, he did not notice when everyone began filing into respawn. He sighed and resigned to the fact that he would have to fight. Whether or not Medic would team up with him was another matter. He didn't care. He felt like giving up on caring.

He entered respawn and gathered his weapons, making sure that his ammo and Sasha were all in order. As he inspected her barrel, he heard footsteps behind him. He knew those boots. A slightly higher pitch from a lighter step and the heavier toe from the steel protection.

"Medic." Mikhail muttered in slight greeting.

"Herr Heavy…" came the response, though the voice sounded defeated and weighted. Mikhail didn't want to look at him. He had no desire to face him. However…temptation made him give in.

Medic was as he always was, but the spark and aspiration in his eyes was gone. Vanished completely. He seemed to have lost every bit of motivation and eagerness that had captivated Mikhail entirely. He may have been Medic with his immaculate state of clothing and appearance, but it was obvious there was a weight upon his shoulders. One that was physically making him lacking.

"I see you finally decided to come out by yourself, krout!" Soldier yelled from across the room. Medic didn't move, nor react.

"So Doc, are you actually going to do your job or are you going to cut open more teammates?" Engineer snapped. Medic frowned and leveled his jaw, bit otherwise did nothing. Mikhail could tell everyone else in the room, though they pretended to be disinterested, they were enraptured.

"I mean, after what you did to Pyro, I don't even think you deserve the right to be called doc." Engineer continued. Medic now said something, turning to the engineer.

"Ja, Herr Engineer." Medic forced out through gritted teeth. "You may be right in that aspect, but no harm came to your _precious maniac_. Count your blessings. I made sure Pyro would still have a _job._ "

"You shouldn't have gone and played with things you don't understand." Engineer insisted, holding his wrench tighter in his hand. Pyro looked between the two rapidly, likewise keeping the fire axe close and ready for anything.

" _Mission begins in 60 seconds"_ the administrator's voice announced. No one paid attention.

"And what does that mean for science in general, toymaker? If one does not take risks?" Medic countered, his tone getting darker.

"What you did wasn't science." Engineer snarled. "That was sadistic Nazi shit."

That was it. Everything became a blur of motion. It all happened so fast, barely anyone knew what was happening. All anyone could say for sure was that one minute, Medic had unsheathed his bone saw and lunged at Engineer and next thing anyone knew, Pyro was on top of his body, repeatedly smashing the blade of the fire axe into the German's face. By the time anyone had recovered from what happened, Engineer was attempting to pull his friend off the completely unrecognizable Medic without getting hit himself.

"Easy, Son!" Soldier commanded Pyro, helping his fellow American man pry the firebug off, just as Medic's body disappeared to go through respawn. Pyro struggled in Engineer's grip, practically screaming so many incoherent words that even Engineer failed to understand.

" _Mission begins in 30 seconds"_ The administrator warned. No one listened. Medic appeared, gasping for air as he collected himself and no doubt going through respawn sickness. After a few seconds, with a hand over his chest, he chuckled darkly and gave a sadistic glare at the pair.

"Oh, if _that_ is how things will play out…well then…" he took up his saw once more. Several of the mercs closest to him backed away.

" _Mission begins in 10 seconds"_

"I suppose it's my turn to feel the Schadenfreude…" Mikhail was prepared to act this time, and was about to stop Medic from taking a swipe at anyone else-

When he suddenly saw red. He felt something spilling and making him wet. Then the pain came. It was unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. It paralyzed him and he didn't even have the ability to scream. It felt like white-hot claws were entering each cell of his body centering around his chest and heart, the organ desperately beating to replenish blood, even though the parasitic sensation was taking over everything in him.

He could hear a strange ringing as his senses failed him, his knees no longer able to hold him up. As he fell, he felt something slide almost effortlessly out of his chest and a gap was opened. He knew something was severely wrong with that, but the pain was stunting his ability to think. Someone was yelling something, but it sounded so far away…

" _Five."_

"Son of a cussing cuss word!"

" _Four."_

"Oh _mon Dieu_!"

" _Three."_

"Whot the bloody hell was in that!?"

" _Two"_

"Oh my Gawd, Doc!"

" _One"_

" _Mikhail!_ "


	12. Duel Dancing

Mikhail collapsed onto his knees as he respawned, breathing hard and dry heaving a few times. There was a buzz in his ears and in his head as he tried to piece together what happened and what he felt as he died. His mind, still jumbled from the intense pain he felt was unable to come with any rational thought at all. As it turned out, he wouldn't have to.

"Good to see you back, big guy."

Mikhail looked up slowly and saw the scout tossing a ball from hand to hand casually, a playful smirk on his face.

"What…happen?" Mikhail asked, barely remembering to pretend that he wasn't fluent in English.

"Medic tried to stab Engie with his new toy. That or Pyro, we really couldn't get a single English word outta Doc. Anyway, you got in the way and you got hit instead. 'Pparently he got a new weapon. Some kinda saw with a shot thingie in the middle. Filled the shot with this pain giving radiation or sumthin' like that." Scout said, pocketing the ball and walking over to the Russian.

"So, normally I would gloat and say I told you so, but ya know, I'm awesome and won't." Scout bragged, that smirk not leaving his face.

"Brag about what? You right about what?" Mikhail asked dubiously, his mind still jumbled and unable to process the runner's speedy subject change.

"Figure it out, big guy. Oh, and you missed battle."

"I _what_!?" Mikahil exclaimed in shock.

"Actually, we kinda skipped." Scout corrected. "Betcha we're gunna be chewed out for that, but we had to take care of shit before Doc went insane for real like Pyro. No offense to Mumbles."

"Skipped…why Medic go crazy?"

"Cuz he killed you. Seriously, dude just lost it, acing like you were never gunna come back."

"Respawn…not take that long."

"Yeah, Engie made sure you were put on hold. He didn't think you'd wanna be there for the huge mess." Scout said, shrugging. Mikhail stared at the runner as he picked himself up.

"Why so…"

"Not serious or freaking out? Oh, because I was right. And everyone said I was full of shit!"

"Right about _what_?" Mikhail growled, disliking how Scout was being no nonchalant and refusing to tell or explain anything.

"I already said, tough guy. You're gunna have to-"

Mikhail let himself use his height and size intimidate the Bostonian as he towered over him in an intimidating stance.

"You say…now." Mikhail growled.

"…l-look, I really can't…he said I couldn't."

" _Who."_ The Russian demanded.

"M-Medic! He said we couldn't say to anyone _ever_ what happened!" Scout squeaked, growing desperate. Mikhail searched his body language and his eyes and nodded slowly, knowing he was telling the truth.

"Why be secret? Only one not know is me…" Mikhail murmured to himself, putting Sasha away in her place, thinking it over. Scout gulped and regained his steady breathing before speaking.

"Well…maybe you should go talk to him." He suggested.

"Nyet." Mikhail said perhaps a little too quickly. He knew that if he spoke to the German on kind terms ever again, his will to never be friends or feel anything would break. "We not friends."

"Are you convincing me of that, or yourself, big guy?" Scout asked, an edge to his voice where he was suggesting he knew all about Mikhail's internal struggle. Mikhail froze and recalled those same words coming from another far more suave mercenary when being questioned about being more than friends. His mind flashed once more to the hushed conversation between said suave mercenary and his rugged companion. He glanced at the Scout and inspected him closer.

No, there was not much in the ways of physical similarities. They practically were polar opposites. The only thing they shared were the eye shape and color. Spy was a learned man with capabilities to self teach each talent and skill needed. Scout was…not. However, he had an intellect all of his own. No, he was not Aristotle, but he certainly knew how to handle the streets and how to be fast. Now that he thought about it, Scout had snuck up on him several times with precision, and had to make a sound on purpose to catch his attention. Furthermore, he held self confidence and perhaps arrogance just as Spy did. That and both men were stubbornly sure they were always right.

Then there was the correlation to Spy mentioning someone as "his" and that person had a brother who had an untimely death…like Scout. Sniper knew this person well based off the dialogue between them, and Scout _had_ been hanging around the assassin more often than not…

Well, it would not surprise him, now that he thought about it. Why not? The world was strange and rather small.

"You listening to me, big guy?" Scout accused, waving a hand in front of Mikhail's face.

"No. Thinking." He murmured, walking out of respawn. Scout tailed behind him, silent for once as he did so. For all of 30 seconds.

"So, what are you going to do?" he asked, hopping around him a little.

"Get answer." Mikhail responded.

"Good luck with that, because Doc made _all_ of us swear we wouldn't tell." Scout said, running to the front of Mikhail and jogged backwards. "Only person who's gunna say would be Medic himself."

"I not look for that answer. I find different."

"Huh? What are you trying to find out!?" Scout demanded.

"Go run, little baby man. Talk with Sniper." Mikhail said, growing tired.

Scout rolled his eyes.

"I _would_ if he wouldn't hang around Spy so much…" he snapped. This made Mikhail stop.

"What?"

"Yeah. Some reason, they talk a lot and whenever I go to his van, he aint there! I ask around, and almost every time he is with that stupid frog! And here I thought they hated each other…" Scout muttered.

"Little man jealous?" Mikhail asked, smiling a little in amusement.

"Jealous of _what_?" the young man demanded.

"Jealous that sniper not just your friend." Mikhail explained. The reaction was instantaneous.

"No!" Scout exploded. "why would I!? I mean, yeah he's my friend and all but that don't mean he can't be pals with someone else too!"

"then what problem?"

"What's the problem? Ill tell you what the problem is! Stuffy suit, stinky mask, and stupid accent! The guy is nothing like Snipes!"

"Sometime opposite attract."

"Yeah right. Snipes is a mans man. He ain't fag like you…no offense."

There was silence for a moment.

"I never say Sniper with Spy together…you say."

Scout grimaced and opened his mouth, only to close it again.

"Ok, yeah, that's my problem. I don't actually _know_ if they are together or not…all I know is that Spy is being way too French."

"Is wrong say that." Mikhail interjected, partially annoyed that he associated a culture and a sexuality as being one in the same. "He is-"

"Good to see ya, tough guy!"

Mikhail turned his head and saw engineer walking in the hall towards him, a metal toolbox on his shoulder. He looked like he was carrying one of his sentries or teleporters across a battlefield only he was doing it across base. Behind him (of course) was Pyro, who was carrying another toolbox.

"how you feeling? I know you were in respawn for a longer time, so it may be different than what you are used to."

"Nyet…is normal…little more dizzy and sick, but normal."

"That's good to hear." Engineer smiled. Mikhail raised an eyebrow at the Texan as he regarded him. For a man who just dealt with a team wide crisis, it seemed odd that he was this…well, _happy._

"What happen after I die?"

"Well son, that's like the question 'what is beauty'; your basic conundrums of philosophy. And I solve practical problems."

Mikhail sighed and shook his head.

"Nyet, what happen when I die and in _respawn_?"

"Oh. Well, first the system receives a signal that you've been killed. Then it makes a copy of its last update, which is made around midnight every night-"

" _Nyet_ , what happen after I die, in respawn and to team _today_?"

"Oh, _that_!" Engineer laughed, sounding like he knew it all along but was just trying to be difficult, making Mikhail even more frustrated.

"Well, you see son…that's a _medic_ al question." The tinker laughed, walking away, Pyro chuckling behind him. Mikhail growled and crossed his arms in a slight pout.

"Get used to it big guy." Scout said. "No one ever tells _me_ anything _either."_

"You small baby. You not understand things."

"Jesus, I. Am. _18._ I am a legal adult, and I kill people every day just like the rest of you!" Scout groaned. "What makes me such a kid, huh!?"

"You act like child. If act like child, people treat like baby." Mikhail reasoned.

"Spy said the exact thing." He muttered.

"Is not bad thing being child. I never was child. You lucky." Mikhail tried to be consoling.

"Oh come on, big guy." Scout rolled his eyes. "You _had_ to be a kid at one point."

"Da. But not act like child."

"Why?" Scout pressed.

"When older. Is not child tale." Mikhail stated, stubbornly refusing to tell him anything about his childhood or family. Scout groaned in frustration and crossed his arms in a full on pout and even slightly stuck his lower lip out in irritation. Mikhail chuckled deeply and pressed his large finger to Scout's pointed nose and pressed it upwards so his nose looked like a small pig.

"Scout is baby when pout." Mikahil teased. Scout waved his arms at the larger man to get him away, but he was smiling slightly. It seemed he was struggling to keep his annoyed façade.

"Alright, alright. I get it." he snapped, though it was hardly threatening and almost playful. Mikhail smiled too.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a certain Teuton watch their interaction in the corner of his eye. Once he looked, the German was gone.

 _Must have been imagining things._

* * *

While Mikhail was alone more often than not, he found that the solitude was hardly a problem for him. His pleasure was the written word, so a book in hand was an afternoon full of imagination and escape with the philosophers. Occasionally, he even was able to write his own works, or the mere beginnings of the greatest works of the century.

Only, he didn't.

He was more alone than ever. He would speak to a few members of the team on occasion, but there seemed to be an overall detachment. He admitted that being aloof was probably not the best decision when it came to first impressions, and perhaps he was in the wrong for that. however, it seemed that the tables had been turned on _him_. The other members would either make an excuse to leave him or comment "why don't you talk to Medic?"

If he gave the truthful answer of "I not his friend," the other person(s) would either roll their eyes or shake their head in disappointment. He would try to explain that Medic was blind to his own immorality and that he preferred to be with company of a more principled nature, he was scoffed at.

"And _where_ do you think you will find that in _Teufort_?" was the generalized argument. Mikhail had to admit, they had a point. However, he was not going to be with a man who deceives and lies to get what he wants, nor was he going to associate with said man whom had no qualms over harming patients, breaking the Hippocratic oath of "do no harm". He refused to do so. Being a friend to him means supporting him. And he did not support that kind of activity.

The odd thing that struck him, however, was the fact that Medic seemed to be doing the same. If Mikhail was in a room, he would stop, turn around, and leave. If they passed in the hall, Medic would turn the other direction and not meet his eyes. This dance of dodging and avoiding was the subject of most of the team. it was no mystery they were watching, and quite avidly, as well. It seemed that whatever happened while Mikhail was in respawn, the team was anxious about its outcome.

Battles became a playground of pure focus for Mikhail, refusing any help from Medic, even when he was dying. Medic, however, seemed more ardent than ever to heal him, almost begging for forgiveness of ending his life that Monday. Regardless, Mikhail was having none of his pleading actions, and was openly refusing the medigun's wondrous healing ability. Yes, this meant he died often. But his pride would not be damaged by falling for the bewitching medical god that was Medic. No, he was determined to remain steadfast and not be ensnared.

The middle of the week came and their performance as a team was failing miserably. Mikhail used to shower after everyone, but in order to avoid Medic, he joined everyone else for once. There, he found that their conversations never strayed from what happened that day, and was full of bitter complaints.

"-so anyway, he runs right past me! Even _looks_ at me, and doesn't even bother to heal me! What is the point of having a medic if he wont _heal_ anyone!" Scout whined, waving his hands a little as he lathered soap into his hair.

"Boyo, he _never_ heals _you_ anyway. I just thought is strange that he doesn't heal even me. Or Soldier for that matter." Demo shrugged, the shower starting to sober him up. He drank considerably less than he used to, though he said it was because he was running low, and they wouldn't be allowed off base for another two months.

"Nah, he has been slacking off." Sniper said, scratching his stubble in irritation. It seemed that sniper was growing a little more confident around people and even showed a little more social skill than before. Scout was pleased by this. Though the only thing that Sniper still seemed to be nervous about was washing in front of the other men _naked_. He wore his boxer briefs in the shower, but no one poked at him for it with the exception of Soldier, whom everyone ignored anyway. Mikhail couldn't blame the man for his modesty and overall standoffish nature. If it made him more comfortable, then so be it.

"I watched him a couple of times through the scope in some down moments to see if he was doing anything." Sniper continued. "Turned out he just kept on following you, Heavy." Here he glanced at said large man. Mikhail sighed and shook his head.

"I think him with smarts should take hint I not want heal or charge." Mikhail muttered.

"Aye? Well I think he's more focused on you forgiving him." Demo stated seriously. "Yeh can't ignore him forever."

"Why not?" Mikhail responded.

"Duh. Because we are falling apart without him!" Scout snapped. "I'm tired of being killed by my damn brother during the humiliation rounds in ways that shouldn't be fair play!"

"It's war, Roo. All is fair here." Sniper said, glancing at the kid. "Count your blessings. Least you don't die."

"that's worse!" Scout countered. "because now he can kill me over and over!"

"Boyo, you sure that he does it with intent? You sure it isn't just his _job_?"

"Ha! It's an added bonus that it's his job!" Scout laughed humorlessly.

"Are you so sure?" Sniper asked.

"Positive! He's been beating me up since we were kids. _And_ I used to have nightmares that he would kill me in my sleep!"

Mikhail sighed and shook his head. He looked over his shoulder to see Medic walk in. When they made eye contact Mikhail turned off his shower and walked out of the room. Medic reached for him but the Russian was persistent, refusing to give an inch. Medic has started to reach out to him off the battlefield, the tango of avoidance slipping into a waltz of pursuit. He moved away out of the way of even his fingertips and snatched a towel as he went, refusing to look at him. He walked out, the knot in his throat growing and the pain in his chest clawing at his animal heart.

* * *

The darkness of night magnified his thoughts and ponderings. Each moment felt like a century, and an hour was an eternity. The Russian, no matter how much he tried to forget or tell himself that the German was not worth his thoughts, could not convince himself so. The admiration, no matter how much he tried to smash it, refused to die. He tried everything from reminding himself that Medic was straight, to remembering that it was against contract.

Eventually, a restless mind and a parched throat later, he was up and steadily moving towards the rec room. His exhaustion and lethargy was laced into every step and motion. He felt that he was dragging a weight and chain behind him, and the anvil of conscience was pressing down upon his shoulders, giving a hunched look.

To his utter shock, the light was on in the rec room. This caused him to raise an eyebrow and slowly approach the source. He entered the room and looked around, only to stand up straight, all tiredness leaving his body in an instant.

Medic.

He was hunched over the kitchen counter, in flannel pajamas and unkept hair. Based off his appearance with the added on glass of water in his cupped hands, it was apparent he was having the same problem. His face was staring at the reflective clear liquid in contemplation and sadness, seemingly on the verge of falling apart.

Mikhail gulped quietly and tried to leave the room without alerting the medical man.

"Mikhail, please don't run anymore…" Medic said, his voice raspy from disuse. Mikhail froze and slowly turned around to look at his ex companion. He still was not looking at him, and didn't even move from his position.

"I cannot play this game of cat and mouse." Medic muttered. "I…I have to speak my mind."

"There is nothing to say." Mikhail stated. That grabbed Medic's attention. His head whirled over to stare at him pitifully.

"There's everything to be said, Mikhail." He said, sliding off the stool he sat upon. The Russian narrowed his eyes and walked around the counter, so that they were on opposite sides and that there was a physical barrier between them.

"You don't have the right to call me that, Medic. You know that." Mikhail said stubbornly.

"Please, just _listen_ to me." The German pleaded. "I know. I was blind to myself. If I had not succumbed to my feelings, then perhaps I would not have hurt you."

"Of course you would say that." Mikhail scoffed.

"It's the truth!" Medic insisted. "I would not lie to you!"

"Not lie to-how _dare you!_ " Mikhail gasped. "You _have_ lied to me!"

"No, I never-"

"Yes you _have_!" Mikhail argued. "You lied through your deception of myself and Pyro, whom I still see with guilt and shame!"

"What does that imbecile have to do with this!?"

"It has everything to do with it!"

A silence echoed across the room.

"M-Mikhail…lets get this straight…you are not angry that I killed you?"

"I could care _less_ about that! I am more infuriated about your actions regarding the team!"

A pause.

"The…team?" He asked slowly.

"Da, the team!" Mikhail cried in frustration. "how you hold no regret for what you did that night in the lab! I thought this was clear!"

"I could care less about _that_!" Medic exclaimed, using the words Mikhail used. "I am being tortured every time I see you in the halls, knowing what I had, mourning what I lost and thinking I 'sealed the deal' as they say, by killing you in the most painful way!"

"I can just respawn! You killing me was not under intent! But you had every intention to go back on your word do your immoral experiment, and for what!? How can you claim innocence of anything?"

"I didn't do anything wrong, can't you see that!?" Medic snapped desperately.

"No, I cannot." Mikhail replied stiffly. "I only seen a selfish man who doesn't realize his own immorality because of the world's hatred upon himself in the past."

Medic stared with a hurt expression and looked about ready to retreat but then lunged forward over the barrier, taking Mikhail's hand into both of his own and staring into his eyes. The contact was like an electric shock that went up Mikhail's spine and released a bolt of lightning in his brain.

"Mikhail, how can I fix this? How can I make this up to you?" Medic asked desperately. Mikhail stared down at their hands and had the urge to make his free one join the bunch.

"Fix it all. Face the problem instead of hiding and pretending it isn't there. It won't get better until you try. And I will not believe you to be moral or understanding unless you _do_." Mikhail said, pulling his hand back. "Actions speak louder than words as they say. And your words are no longer something to go by."

Mikhail didn't wait to see his reaction. He only slipped away out of the room and refused to look back at Medic. If he looked back, it would have revealed the pain and struggle those words were to say for Mikhail.

* * *

The next morning, Mikhail had to be dragged out of bed again. This time, by a masked Frenchman. Instead of blowing a bugle in his ear, he sat on the bed next to him, and talked.

"You know this cannot last. Even a simpleton would know that. This little predicament that you both have placed yourselves in, to be blunt, is a stalemate. Unless one of you budges, this will never be resolved." He said, sighing slightly.

" _I care not if it is a stalemate."_ Mikhail muttered in Russian. " _I will only forgive him once he sees the immorality of his actions."_

"Do you think the docteur will ever see the error of his ways? Its hardly any consolation if he never does." Spy said.

" _I do not care. He is nothing to me unless he faces his problem head on."_ Mikhail growled into his pillow.

"'Faces his problem?' What do you mean, Mikhail?" Spy questioned. Mikhail glared at the other man from under his flat cushion.

" _Only that unless he proves himself capable of showing morality and care for others, I will not allow him nor myself to fall into friendship."_

"I see…so his morality, or lack thereof I should say, is the fuel to your dislike? Any specific way he can redeem himself?"

" _Why are you asking me this? So you can just tell him? Have him do as I say and have a quick solution only for him not to be changed for the better and you prance off with the benefits along with the rest of the team at the cost of mutual respect and honor?"_

"Because if you do not know how, then how is he to know how?" Spy responded, a little bite at the end.

" _He is a smart man. He has every capability of figuring it out for himself!"_ Mikhail countered stubbornly.

"Oui, but it remains that the rest of us are falling apart on the field. And I, quite honestly, do not _enjoy_ being toasted alive via insane mumbling abominations. Your stubbornness is causing this team to become a wreck." Spy accused.

" _My stubbornness!? You sit here and defend him!?"_

"Non, not at all. More or less, I am frustrated just as much as everyone else! Can't you two just get your act together!?"

" _I do not condone immoral behavior."_

"We are mercenaries! We kill for a living!"

" _I didn't!"_ the Russian bit back, giving a particularly murderous glare. _"I did it only to protect whom I love! I didn't take jobs! You know this!"_

"You are a fool to expect the rest of us to have that luxury." Spy sighed in disappointment. "We were hired to kill. Killing is an immoral act by default. We defy death through respawn, but that is hardly an excuse."

" _So medic is allowed to-"_

"There are boundaries to never cross. That is one of them. I am not saying he is not at fault. But I do know that you cannot expect him to be the next angel of god."

Mikhail grumbled a little before Spy pulled at his arm.

"Now get up. I still have to wake up Scout." he grumbled irritably.

"Your son." Mikhail clarified without thinking.

At this, Spy froze.

"Quoi?"

"You heard." Mikhail muttered, not looking at the spy and certainly not noticing his face turning into a scowl. However, he heard Spy's tone turning dangerously low.

"You are _not_ supposed to-"

"You know my life without permission." Mikhail cut off. "'Cannot take what you dish' as tiny Scout says?"

Spy frown deepened as he crossed his arms in tense apprehension.

"Regardless. _No one_ should _ever_ know." Spy hissed.

"Is fine. I don't gossip anyway." The Russian responded casually, almost noncommittally as he sat up in bed. Spy got up and out of the giant's way to allow him to stand and ready himself for the day. Before Mikhail could even take a step towards his dresser, Spy's too small hand grabbed Heavy's forearm, it hardly curving over the extensive muscle.

"I am serious, Monsieur. Not a word." He threatened.

"Da." Mikhail said, seriousness returning to his voice. Spy seemed to accept this and stepped away leaving the room and Mikhail to his thoughts.


End file.
